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ROBERT MARTIN’S LESSON, 


BY 

ANNIE a/sWAN) 

AUTHOR OF “ ALDERSYDE/' “a DIVIDED HOUSE,” “CARLOWRIB,” 

BTC, BTC* 




American Edition. 



CINCINNATI : 

.ora.isist:'0]S[ ^vistid stcowb^. 

NEW YORK: 

tiUN'T vVNID 


V 







0 ^ 


i CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGB 

1. PROSPECTS, •••••«. 7 

II. AIMS IN LIFE, .••••.. l8 

III. THE FIRST SABBATH, 26 

IV. AFTERNOON TEA, 35 

V. A PLAIN WOMAN, 44 

VI. MAITLAND PARK, $2 

VII. PARISHIONERS, 65 

VIII. DIFFERENCE OF OPINION, . ... 78 

IX. PUSHING ON, . 89 

X. OVERCOMING DIFFICULTIES, • • . . lOI 

XI. A BURDENED HEART, IIO 

XII. COALS OF FIRE, II9 

XIII. CLEARING UP, I30 

XIV. THE SILVER LINING, • • • • . I38 

XV. FOR HIS GLORY, . , . • • . I48 


ILLUSTRATIONS, 


PAGE. 

PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR, Frontispiece, 

IN THE SHELTER OF A HUGE BOULUER, ........ 20 

VISITORS ANNOUNCED, 1^0 

AMONG HER POOR, II4 


ROBERT MARTIN’S LESSON. 


AMERICAN EDITION. 


This book is published in America under special con- 
tract with its Edinburgh Publishers, Messrs. Oliphant, 
Anderson & Ferrier. 

The American Publishers have not changed the orig- 
inal orthography. 



Robert Martin’s Lesson. 


CHAPTER L 

PROSPECTS. 

O N a somewhat boisterous evening in March, 
1871, two gentlemen were sitting together in 
the comfortable dining-room of a substantial 
Glasgow mansion. That it was the abode of 
wealth was evidenced by the handsome and 
expensive appointments of the room, while the 
taste of the inmates found expression in the few 
beautiful and rare ornaments, and in the choice 
studies in art to be seen on the walls. The gentle- 
men had their chairs drawn close up to the tiled 
hearth, and the ruddy glow from the cheerful fire 
fell full upon their faces. The elder of the two was 
leaning back in his chair with his elbows resting 
on the arms, and the tips of his fingers meeting 
together, while his face wore a thoughtful and 

7 


8 


ROBERT MARTIN'S LESSON. 


attentive expression as he listened to his com- 
panion’s remarks. It was a good face, kindly and 
benevolent in its expression ; and if the eyes had 
a certain keen, shrewd, far-seeing gleam in them, 
perhaps that was but the outcome of the long 
period in which he had been ceaselessly involved 
in the cares of business. Gilbert Matheson was a 
self-made man. He had not, indeed, like the pro- 
verbial self-made man, entered the city bare-footed 
and without a penny in his pocket, but he had 
risen from humble, though respectable and com- 
fortable obscurity, and by his own efforts, his good 
business capacity and his indomitable perseverance, 
had made a substantial fortune. He was proud of 
his success in a quiet way, and liked to have 
evidences of it about him in his house, and in his 
person also. He was faultlessly attired in evening 
dress, with diamond studs and solitaires, and a 
heavy but chaste gold chain looked well against 
the shining broadcloth. There was nothing vulgar 
about Gilbert Matheson ; he was indeed more of a 
gentleman by nature and action than many who 
lay much greater claim to the title. His companion 
was a much younger man, and a clergyman, as was 
evidenced by his ministerial garb. He was singu- 
larly handsome, almost striking indeed in his 
appearance. The tall commanding figure, the 
noble head, with its masses of curling brown hair, 
the fine face, with the firm yet mobile mouth, and 


PROSPECTS. 


9 


the earnest speaking eye made the outward man a 
pleasant study ; of the inner man perhaps we may 
learn a little in these pages. He seemed deeply 
interested in the subject under discussion, for he 
sat forward in his chair, and one firm white hand, 
emblem of beauty and strength, was uplifted as if 
to enforce his words. It was the right hand, and 
on the little finger there gleamed a diamond ring 
which flashed in Gilbert Matheson’s eye with every 
movement. The mere wearing of a finger-ring 
cannot, of course, be regarded as a sign of weak- 
ness in any man, but when coupled with many 
other little niceties and conceits it might lead an 
impartial observer to conclude that Robert Martin 
was very sensible of his fine face and figure, and 
that he further considered it right and proper to 
enhance these so far as lay in his power. 

“Yes, the congregation in Wellogate Church has 
fallen away most deplorably, and yet Hightown 
itself is increasing in population annually at the 
rate of two and three hundreds,” he was saying. 
“ I cannot think why the late minister did not add 
considerable numbers to the roll of his communi- 
cants. He had a splendid field in which to work.” 

“Ah, wasn’t he an old man?” inquired Mr. 
Matheson. 

“Yes, and thoroughly of the old school. They 
have neither organ nor choir, but an antiquated 
precentor who bawls out the slow old tunes at the 


lO 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


pitch of his voice,” replied the minister. "That 
Sunday I preached I could scarcely believe that 
I was in the parish church of a rising and populous 
town in the nineteenth century.” 

" Isn’t there a manufacturing element in High- 
town ? ” asked Mr. Matheson in the same quiet and 
apparently indifferent manner. 

"Yes, there are two wool mills, an extensive 
paper-making concern, and several spinning mills. 
In spite of dull times there is plenty of money in 
Hightovvn, and I am told quite a cotton aristocracy,” 
responded the minister. " But several of the 
wealthiest families who belonged originally to the 
Established Church have drifted away to the 
Episcopalians, driven to the step I doubt not by 
the barren and dreary services in their own church. 
I do not despair of being able to win them back 
again. I assure you I shall very speedily alter 
the existing state of things in the Wcllogate 
parish.” 

"’Um ; is Wellogate the only Established church 
in Hightown?” 

" No, there are two quoad sacrasP 

" And are the ministers of these two churches of 
the same type as the late minister of the Wellogate 
parish ? ” 

" I really can’t say, Mr. Matheson. Remember 
I was not forty-eight hours in Hightown.” 

" Did you say the call to you was unanimous ? ” 


PROSPECTS. 


II 


‘‘ Nearly so. Of course there are always a few 
dissenting voices in a congregation. There was 
one influential man who voted against me I believe, 
and strenuously opposed my election on the ground 
than an assistant in a fashionable city church, as he 
termed it, was not the man for a congregation like 
Wellogate, which is principally composed of work- 
ing people.” 

“I am not sure but that the man was right, 
Robert,” said Mr. Matheson. “What was his 
name ? ” 

“A Mr. Buchanan. But tell me on what grounds 
you would say I was unfit for a parish like Wello- 
gate.” 

“I did not say you were unfit, Robert. But 
certainly your three years in St. Mungo’s, where 
you have been courted and caressed much more 
than was good for you, has not been a very 
good preparation for the laborious life of a parish 
minister in a place like Hightown. What do you 
know of working people and their needs ? ” 

Robert Martin reddened a little at the merchant’s 
plain, blunt question. 

“You give me credit for a very meagre amount 
of knowledge, surely,” he said. “ I admit that I am 
ignorant of many things ; but surely if I am willing 
and anxious to learn I shall do well in my new 
sphere.” 

“ Certainly, if you set about it in the right way,” 


12 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


said the merchant “ Then you have quite decided 
to accept the call ? ” 

“ Quite ; but I should like your approval It is 
a good stipend, and may be increased ; and there is 
a fairly habitable manse. Ada seems to think 
I ought to accept it” 

*‘Ada is a foolish lassie who thinks everything 
you do perfection,” said Mr. Matheson dryly, and 
yet with a deep and peculiar tenderness of look 
and tone which betrayed that the mention of his 
daughter’s name touched a very precious chord in 
his heart. 

Robert Martin sat back in his chair and relapsed 
into silence. He felt a little aggrieved, and fancied 
his future father-in-law needlessly hard upon him. 
Mr. Matheson’s keen eye at once divined that 
unspoken thought, and a slight smile touched his 
lips. 

“ I suppose, then, that you have no intention of 
going to Hightown without Ada,” he said after a 
little pause. ‘'You will be desirous that your 
marriage should not be long delayed.” 

“It certainly would be better, Mr. Matheson,” 
replied Robert Martin ; “ but of course Ada and 
I are in the hands of yourself and Mrs. Matheson. 
If you would prefer that I should serve a year’s 
probation at Hightown before you intrust your 
daughter to my keeping, I can but bow to your 
decision.” 


PROSPECTS. 


13 


“ You are vexed with me, lad,” said the merchant, 
sitting forward and looking the young man straight 
in the face. “ I am sorry if I appeared indifferent, 
or if I unwittingly cast a damper on your ardent 
hopes for your new life. You ought to know me 
well enough, Robert, to be sure that I am as deeply 
and unselfishly interested in you as if you were my 
own son. If I do not appear to share your glowing 
visions for your future at Hightown it is only 
because, having lived longer and seen more than 
you, I foresee difficulties and dangers which, unless 
you are extremely careful to shun, will mar your 
usefulness and shadow your happiness. In spite 
of its many advantages, I fear Wellogate church is 
not the place for you.” 

“ The very difficulties and dangers you allude to, 
the very idea of being able to kindle a little life in 
that dead church, and of showing them that culture 
and labour can very well go hand in hand, make 
me eager to go,” said Robert Martin enthusiasti- 
cally. 

“Your theory is good, but it will require a 
careful mind and a steady, prudent hand to enforce 
its practice,” answered the merchant doubtfully. 
“You are impetuous, and, if you will excuse me 
being so plain with you, I fear a little headstrong 
also. You have had it all your own way in 
St. Mungo's, for the people were always ready to 
follow wherever you led the way. You have been 


14 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


much loved and looked up to, I do not say 
undeservedly, but it will be different where you are 
going. At Wellogate you can readily imagine 
that every new departure will be coldly and 
critically weighed before it is sanctioned by your 
people, who will of necessity be prejudiced by long 
usage to the simplest and barest forms of worship.” 

Robert Martin sat silent, but not convinced. 

“ The first thing is to win the confidence of your 
flock,” continued Mr. Matheson. " And to do that 
you must make yourself thoroughly acquainted 
with all the needs and necessities of their lives. 
I warn you it will be a very different thing to step 
into some house and be received, perhaps, on a 
washing day, in an untidy kitchen, by the weary 
mother of half-a-dozen bairns from being warmly 
welcomed in a fine drawing-room by the ladies of 
St. Mungo’s. I hope you will be able to bridge the 
gulf, and make yourself at home with the working 
members of the church, otherwise you will not do 
much good in High town.” 

“ I hope I shall never so far forget the duties and 
obligations of my office as to fall short in my visit- 
ing or in any other functions that will be required 
of me,” said Robert Martin quickly. 

“ I hope not, my boy,” said the merchant quietly. 

" I would advise you to make a friend of that 
Mr. Buchanan, Robert. I think I know the man, 
and if I mistake not, he will prove himself your 


PROSPECTS. 


15 


best friend in Hightown if you will let him, in 
spite of his opposition to your election. Ah ! there 
is the bell, that will be Ada and her mother. They 
have been at a Dorcas meeting and are wonderfully 
punctual.” 

Conversation was suspended until the ladies 
entered the room, as they often did, before pro- 
ceeding upstairs. Mrs. Matheson came first, and 
gave Robert Martin a hearty greeting. She was a 
comely woman, perhaps neither very handsome nor 
ladylike in appearance, but she had a kind pleasant 
face, and a very motherly smile and manner which 
made her a great favourite with both old and 
young. She was richly but tastefully dressed, and 
looked a fit mate indeed for the opulent merchant 
Behind her came Adelaide, or Ada as she was 
familiarly called, their only child, and the betrothed 
wife of the Rev. Robert Martin. They had been 
playmates in childhood, close companions in youth, 
and were soon to be husband and wife. People 
said it was a suitable match, for Robert Martin was 
well born and possessed substantial means to 
balance against Ada Matheson’s handsome dowry. 
Even the most jealous-minded and fault-finding 
clique in St. Mungo’s church had nothing to say 
against it, for they all loved the clever assistant, 
and even the most prejudiced could find no fault 
with the maiden of his choice. She was a very 
bright and winsome creature, not possessing per- 


i6 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


haps the highest type of form or loveliness, but 
the lissom girlish figure, the sweet, frank, unclouded 
face, the earnest winning eyes, and unstudied grace 
of manner and movement made her indeed “ fair to 
see.” Sunshine followed wherever she went, and 
yet she was not a giddy butterfly content to skim 
lightly and carelessly through life. She had true 
womanly thoughts and noble aspirations, and out 
of her love and faith in things divine sprang love 
and faith in things human, and with it an earnest 
desire to do good. 

A flush, faint and exquisite as the rose-tint on a 
sea-shell, stole into her cheek at sight of her lover, 
and she shook hands without speaking a word. 
Then she moved to the table and stood there — a 
dainty and winsome figure in costly seal wraps — 
and began to unfasten the buttons of her gloves. 
While Mrs. Matheson was talking volubly, as was 
her wont, to the minister, the merchant's eyes 
dwelt with yearning fondness on his daughters 
sweet face. How he loved her, how unutterably 
dear and precious she was to him, I cannot tell 
you. She was his one ewe lamb, his darling, upon 
whom all the treasures of his paternal love were 
poured without stint. It had been a grief of no 
ordinary kind for Gilbert Matheson to consent to 
give her up, even to the son of his old friend, one 
worthy of her in many ways ; but because he saw 
it was for her happiness, he had yielded. But it 


PROSPECTS. 


17 


had never entered into his head that Robert Martin 
might take her away from Glasgow, and the 
prospect of their settlement in Hightown, nearly 
fifty miles distant, was not particularly pleasant. 

After a few minutes' general talk, Ada slipped 
away upstairs. It was not long before the minister 
rose and followed, knowing very well he should 
find her in the drawing-room. And when he 
entered there, the momentary cloud which the 
merchant's plain words had brought to his brow 
melted away in the sunshine of his darling's smile. 

2 




CHAPTER IL 

AIMS IN LIFE. 

/ELL, Ada, our holiday is over, and our work 
begins in earnest the day after to-morrow. 
Does your heart fail you at the thought ? ” 

A faint flush stole to young Mrs. Martin’s face 
at her husband’s question, and she slightly shook 
her head. 

“ Oh, no ! I am not so much of a coward as that, 
Robert,” she answered. “ Only I feel a little timid. 
Everything will be so new, and there will be so 
much for me to do. I am so afraid I shall not be 
able to fill my place worthily.” 

“ My darling, what nonsense ! Why, these very 
eyes of yours would take the hardest heart by 
- storm,” said Robert Martin lightly. “Even the 
invincible Buchanan will fall down and worship 
you.” 

Again Ada Martin shook her head. 

“ It is you who are talking nonsense now,” she 

i8 


AIMS IN LIFE. 


19 


said quietly, and, turning her eyes seawards, she 
sat a little while in silence. Yes, their month's 
wanderings were over, the brief period of close and 
uninterrupted companionship, so sweet a prepara- 
tion for the more prosaic work of life, had come to 
an end, and they were now on their way home. 
They had first spent a fortnight among the vines 
and olives of southern France, not seeking to 
journey far for sight-seeing, because they were 
sufficient each to the other, and they found it so 
sweet to be alone together that they cared for 
nought else. They had then travelled back to 
Scotland by slow and circuitous routes, which the 
orthodox tourist would regard with dismay, and 
they found themselves in the last days of their 
pilgrimage resting in a quiet nook on the southern 
coast within sight of the stormy waters which 
sweep the wild and rocky shores of Galloway. 
It was a fine mild September evening, and the 
hour was that mystic hovering 'twixt daylight and 
darkness, when the sunset tints have scarcely 
flown, and the shadows of the twilight are closing 
in. A weird and wondrous light from the young 
harvest moon lay on sea and land ; the wild waves 
were hushed into a gentle murmur on the little 
strip of sandy shore, though round the rugged 
headland came the sullen dash of the breakers 
which never know a gentler tone. The straggling 
little hamlet on its green slope with its white 


20 


ROBERT MARTIN’S LESSON. 


cottages, and its golden-tinted harvest fields 
beyond, made a fine and striking background to 
the picture — one which many a student of the 
brush had loved to study. 

Robert Martin and his wife were sitting in the 
shelter of a huge boulder which in some great storm 
had been separated from the parent cliff. She had 
only the soft folds of her white wrap about her 
head and shoulders, for they had only stolen down 
from the little inn on the slope for their evening 
peep at the sea. It made a fitting frame for the 
sweet, grave, yet happy face, which was surely the 
dearest face in the world to him who called its 
owner wife. 

“ Come, tell me what makes you so quiet, dear 
one,” he said, laying a tender hand on the slender 
shoulder, and seeking to turn her face round to him. 

“I don’t know, Robert,” she answered slowly; 
“ I feel so weighted down by the thought of what 
lies before us. Do you think I will be able to 
do my duty in Hightown ? ” 

But for the wistfulness with which she spoke, 
Robert Martin could have laughed at his wife’s 
fears. 

“ Why distress yourself so, my love ? If you are 
just your sweet self you will be and do all that is 
required. If you look so very serious, I shall begin 
to fear I had no right to ask you to share my lot” 

“ Oh don’t say that, Robert ! ” she exclaimed 




IN THI^ SHEIvTKR OF A HUGE BOUUDER. 

Face p. 20. 

j. 



( 


\ 




■< 


i 

i ■ 


AIMS IN LIFE. 


21 


quickly. " It is hot that, dear. Only, as your wife 
I shall have so many opportunities of doing good, 
for speaking a word for Christ. I pray I may have 
strength to meet all these opportunities. I would 
not pass one by willingly. Perhaps He will make 
them so plain to me that my work will be easier 
than I think.*' 

Robert Martin was silent for a little, feeling 
rebuked, he could not tell why. But he was 
conscious of the great contrast his wife's humility 
presented to the callous assured confidence of his 
success. He had never uttered nor felt any doubtte 
regarding it. In two days he was to begin his 
work as parish minister of Hightown, and the 
thought had never caused him a moment's uneasi- 
ness or anxiety. Better perhaps had something of 
his wife's finer spirit moved him. 

‘‘ Let me tell you all I would like to be and to 
do, Robert,” she said presently ; and leaning her 
head on her hand, she continued in a low and very 
earnest voice, “ I want first of all to be a true wife 
and helpmate to you, because Christian work must 
find its birth-place at home, else it can have little 
influence abroad : of that I became convinced 
long ago. I want to make your home, dear, a 
place where you will find rest for a weary mind 
as well as a weary body ; and I want to make 
myself so much to you that you will find in me 
your best sympathiser and friend as well as your 


22 


ROBERT MARTIN'S LESSON. 


loving wife. Do you think I can be all that to 
you, Robert ? ” 

No need to record the husband's answer ; but it 
satisfied her completely, 

“ And to your people I should like to be a true 
friend whom they can trust," she went on with a 
sob in her gentle voice. “ I want to go in and out 
among them gently and humbly, seeking to share 
their joys and their sorrows, to befriend them in 
their need, and to teach them to love me. I think 
if I win their hearts first, I shall be better able to 
help any who may be struggling like myself in the 
upward way.” 

“ My darling, what a woman you are ! and how 
unspeakably blessed am I in your love ! ” exclaimed 
Robert Martin involuntarily. 

She smiled a little, and turned her thoughtful 
eyes again upon the heaving sea. 

“ It is a very easy thing to draw a fine ideal, and 
to say all one would like to be and to do,” she said, 
“ but it is a very different thing to live up to it. 
Yet I believe it is a good thing to have a high 
ideal of life and duty, because in aspiring to reach 
it, one’s nature must be elevated, and not lowered. 
Do you not agree with me ? ” 

‘‘ Most assuredly. Excelsior should be the motto 
of every man and woman,” answered Robert 
Martin. “Well, well, my darling, between us we 
will work miracles in Hightown yet.” 


AIMS IN LIFE. 


23 


“ I wish you would not be so confident, dear,” 
said Ada Martin gravely. “ It would be wiser to 
expect less for one's own sake, because any 
disappointment which might follow would be 
more easily borne.” 

“You are too doubting, dearest. Unless you 
have confidence in yourself you can never achieve 
great things,” said Robert Martin, still lightly. 
“ I promise you that in a year's time there shall be 
sweeping changes wrought in the Wellogate church 
and parish in spite of our friend Buchanan.” 

“Why do you speak always so slightingly of 
Mr. Buchanan, Robert ? Papa says he is a very 
nice man, and the very soul of honour where 
business is concerned.” 

“ He may be that, dearest, and yet prove him- 
self a malcontent in the church. He seems to 
have very old-fashioned ideas, and a wonderful 
tenacity in holding to them. He had it all his 
own way with poor old Doctor Ainslie, who was 
too gentle to resist, even had he felt inclined.” 

Ada Martin did not speak for a moment 
There was something she did not like in her 
husband's tone and manner when he spoke of the 
man who had strenuously opposed his election 
to Hightown, a lack of that charity which is 
love. 

“Tell me all you hope to do in Hightown, 
Robert I have been speaking of my duties 


24 


ROBERT MARTIN'S LESSON. 


and cares. What of yours ? ” she asked at 
length. 

“ Well, my love, I hope and intend to renovate 
the musical service of the church, and I promise 
you it will one day compare favourably with our 
famed St. Mungo’s singing. I think the power 
and place of music in public worship is not under- 
stood by Presbyterians as a rule. Then I see no 
reason why the congregation should not be doubled. 
When that is accomplished I shall set about laying 
plans for a new church to replace the barn-like 
edifice which has contented them so long. When 
I have managed to make everything smooth and 
straight for my successor I shall enter a city 
charge, and leave the place before the people have 
grown weary of me and my preaching. The 
mistake most ministers make is in remaining too 
long in one place.” 

Ada Martin listened in silence ; but the eyes 
turned upon the fast-darkening sea had now a 
shadow in their depths. She rose when he ceased 
speaking, and turning to him laid her hand, upon 
which gleamed both wedding and betrothal rings, 
lightly on his arm. 

“There is one thing you have not mentioned, 
Robert,” she said, and the beautiful eyes uplifted to 
his face filled with tears as she spoke. “ You have 
forgotten the duty most sacred and binding on the 
conscience and heart of a Christian minister.” 


AIMS IN LIFE. 


25 


“And that, Ada? 1 love to take my lesson 
from your lips.” 

After a moment her answer came in an eager, 
trembling whisper, words which thrilled and 
rebuked him to the very heart — 

“ Winning souls to Christ” 




CHAPTER III. 

THE FIRST SABBATH. 

T he situation of the Wellogate church might 
have had something to do with the exodus of 
its wealthier members. It stood at the head 
of Market Street, which had once been the most 
important thoroughfare in Hightown. Market 
Street, which with its surrounding network of lanes 
and closes was included in the name “Wellogate,” 
did not now possess a good reputation. It was 
indeed shunned by respectable people, because that 
portion of the population which was not considered 
respectable lived and moved and had its being 
there. In these dingy, dirty byways of the smoky 
town the public-house, with its twin-sister the 
pawnbroker’s establishment, flourished as both ever 
do in the quarters of the poor. Brawls were 
common in the Wellogate, and the second edition 
of the Hightown Gazette^ published twice a-week, 
had always a grievously long list of police cases to 
26 


THE FIRST SABBATH. 


27 


report on Monday afternoon. Wellogate was 
indeed a large mission field, and the duties of the 
parish minister, if faithfully performed, could be no 
sinecure. The church was a square block of solid 
masonry, with a flat roof and long narrow windows 
fitted with panes of obscured glass, and an outer 
protection of iron bars. A dismal burying-ground 
heaped high with graves, and with no green beauty 
to relieve its sombre aspect, did not add to the 
outward attraction of the church in which Robert 
Martin was now to break the bread of life. The 
manse was little more than five hundred yards 
distant, a roomy comfortable old-fashioned family 
house, standing in a large garden enclosed by a 
stone wall high enough and perpendicular enough 
to defy the climbing genius of the Hightown arab. 
A locked gate, and an unscalable wall had hitherto 
protected the minister's fruit trees and currant 
bushes, as well as the flowers which, in spite of the 
smoky air, blossomed as abundantly as in the 
garden of any country manse. 

It was late on the Saturday evening, the last of 
September, when Robert Martin and his wife 
arrived at their new home. It was pay Saturday 
in Hightown, and there was consequently a greater 
stir than usual in the Wellogate ; nay more, there 
were unseemly sights and sounds which made Ada 
Martin tremble though her husband held her hand 
and the carriage windows were firmly shut 


28 


ROBERT MARTIN'S LESSON. 


“It was a mistake for us to delay our home- 
coming till to-night,” he said, in a disturbed voice. 

“ But don’t let the usual Saturday night din of a 
busy town prejudice you against your new home, 
Ada.” 

“Oh no, I was not thinking of that,” she 
answered quickly, but did not say what she was 
thinking. She would tell him by-and-by, but not 
yet It was a little quieter in the wider thorough- 
fare beyond Market Street, and when they arrived 
at the gate of the manse the young wife drew a 
breath of relief. When they stepped into the 
garden and the great gate shut them in she felt as 
if they had reached a haven after a storm, so great 
was the contrast to the crowded streets through 
which they had passed. The wide low door was 
open, and a brilliant flood of light from the hall 
lamp shone out upon the darkness of the night 
And on the threshold stood Gilbert Matheson and 
his wife waiting to welcome their children to their 
new home. 

With a sob Robert Martin’s wife sprang into her 
father’s arms. She had never been parted from 
him so long before, and it was a great joy to be 
with him again. 

Then her mother tearfully claimed her, and 
looked with yearning motherly eyes into the sweet, 
dear face on which smiles and tears now contended 
for the mastery. The emotion of the greetings 


THE FIRST SABBATH 


29 


over, the young wife had time to look about the 
house which till now she had never seen but in 
imagination, and around which clustered so many 
bright and lovely hopes. It was a dwelling of 
which any young wife might have been proud, for 
no expense had been spared to make it beautiful 
for its mistress. The furnishings had been chosen 
in harmony with the quaint oak-panelled rooms, 
and being of the most costly description, thanks to 
Gilbert Matheson, the effect was very pleasing. 
Ada was delighted with everything, and expressed 
her delight in her usual frank impulsive way. 

“So you have had a pleasant holiday, my 
darling ; never felt the least qualm of home-sickness 
or pining for the old folk, eh ! ” said Gilbert 
Matheson as they sat down to supper. 

“ I will not say that, papa,” Ada replied. “ But 
it was a pleasant holiday, one which we will never 
forget.” 

“No, for it cannot be repeated,” said the 
merchant a trifle gravely. “And now, come tell 
us what you saw. Your letters were rather 
disjointed and contained very meagre descriptions 
of your sight-seeing, and Robert’s were not much 
better.” 

“ I don’t think we saw very much ; did we, 
Robert ? ” asked the young wife innocently. 

“Not much, beyond each other,” the minister 
answered with a smile. 


30 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


“Ha, ha!” laughed the merchant. “You are 
honest to confess it. You see, you wouldn’t take 
my advice and go to some quiet nook. Honey- 
moon trips are the greatest folly. Mamma and 
I went to Paris and Vienna I remember. I tried 
to combine business with pleasure, for I had not 
been long in business at the time ; but I don’t 
think the experiment paid, eh, Mary?” 

Mrs. Matheson laughed, and did not contradict 
her husband. 

“ I believe the time for married folks to take a 
trip is after they have been settled down at home 
for a while and are getting used to each other ; but 
then, I’m just talking nonsense. Well, Robert, 
what heart have you for your hard work here ? It 
will be hard work, and no mistake, with so many 
heathens at your very doors.” 

“ I have a very good heart indeed. I am eager 
to begin,” answered Robert Martin. “I feel that 
this is not quite the sphere for Ada ; that is all.” 

“ I am not so sure of that ; but one thing I am 
sure of, that you would not do very well without 
her,” replied Gilbert Matheson. “I hope and 
expect great things from you both.” 

“ It is not a very nice place to have a house in,” 
said Mrs. Matheson. “ The only comfort is that it 
is so near the church, and really when the gates are 
shut you are quite secluded ; and it is quite a 
pretty place in daylight too ; and the house is so 


THE FIRST SABBATH. 


31 


convenient. Such cupboards and closets, Ada! 

I only wish our modern architects would study the 
housewife’s comfort as thoroughly as their fore- 
fathers in the profession seem to have done.” 

“ Oh, I am sure it is a delightful house, mamma, 
and I don’t mind the situation a bit ! ” said Ada. 
‘‘ It will be so convenient for my visiting. I am so 
anxious to try and do some good among the poor 
people all about us.” 

“ I hope Robert will take care of you, and not let 
you go prowling into all sorts of hovels, where you 
may catch all kinds of disease,” said Mrs. Matheson 
severely. “ My opinion is that you will have 
sufficient social duties in the church to occupy your 
time, and if you see after the Dorcas society, and 
the mothers’ meetings and this kind of things, you 
will do very well.” 

"I am of your opinion, Mrs. Matheson,” said 
Robert Martin ; "you may trust me to watch over 
Ada as carefully as you would do.” 

" I am sure you will,” Mrs. Matheson answered 
cordially. Then the talk turned upon topics of 
mutual interest connected with the church life 
at St. Mungo’s. After supper Mrs. Matheson 
carried Ada off for a thorough inspection of the 
house, which ended with a visit to the kitchen, 
where the young wife quite won the hearts of the 
two middle-aged servants whom Mrs. Matheson 
had engaged for Wellogate manse. 

3 


32 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON, 


The first Sabbath of Robert Martin’s ministry in 
Hightown dawned clear and bright and still, one of 
those quiet, solemn, delicious days we so often have 
in the late autumn before the winter storms sweep 
down upon us in all their violence. Before break- 
fast Ada stole out of doors for a peep at the 
old-fashioned garden where some autumn flowers 
lingered still, showing in bright contrast against 
the rich sombre green of the bays and rhodo- 
dendrons. The pear and apple trees against the 
garden wall were laden with their harvest, the 
season of leaf and bloom was past, and fruitage 
time had come. Beyond the high wall the young 
wife saw the tall chimney-stalks of the factories 
standing out sharply against the clear bright sky ; 
but no smoke obscured the atmosphere, and the 
din and roar of factory wheels were hushed because 
it was the day of rest. She stood leaning against 
the trellised doorway of the little summer-house 
dreamily watching the gradual breaking of the sky, 
her heart filled with a thousand hopes and fears, 
and earnest resolutions for the future. And when 
the breakfast-bell rang its noisy summons she 
entered the house with a fervent prayer that God 
would bless and help them both in this new life, 
and make her husband a blessing to the place. 
The Wellogate church was filled to overflowing 
that morning, for Robert Martin’s reputation as a 
preacher, had preceded him to Hightown, and 


THE FIRST SABBATH 


33 


many felt curious to see the new minister of 
Wellogate and his young wife. As may be 
imagined, many curious eyes travelled to the 
crimson-covered pew on the left side of the pulpit, 
where for forty years Dr. Ainslie's plain-featured 
housekeeper had sat in solitary state, an object of 
curiosity or interest to none. Needless to say that 
the bride was very quietly though richly dressed. 
Her own taste was exquisite, and without spending 
much thought or time upon her toilet, she always 
seemed to wear just what became her best. The 
sweet young face under the brown velvet bonnet 
was grave and earnest and a trifle paler than its 
wont. When her husband came out of the vestry 
and ascended the pulpit stair she covered her eyes 
with her hand as if suddenly moved. 

Robert Martin looked well in the pulpit. The 
minister's robe was peculiarly becoming to him, 
and he wore it with dignity and grace. His 
opening prayer was very appropriate, the eloquent 
words, breathed forth in the full, rich, mellow tones, 
carried his hearers with him, and they feared to 
lose a word. So it was with the reading of the 
chapter, and also with his discourse. He chose 
for his text these words, to be found at the 
beginning of Paul's Epistle to the Romans: “A 
servant of Jesus Christ." 

Not for many, many years had such a sermon 
been preached in the parish church of Hightown. 


34 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


Those who had been long accustomed to Dr. 
Ainslie’s prosaic platitudes and rambling disserta- 
tions felt as if new life were being infused into their 
veins. The preacher^s eloquence, the force of his 
arguments, his wealth of imagery, and his deep 
earnestness carried them away, and they followed 
him breathlessly to the close. Surely if this was 
an earnest of what they might expect every 
Sabbath-day, and if the preacher exercised his 
gifts in his parish work likewise, a great spiritual 
awakening must inevitably follow. In the after- 
noon the church was again crowded, and again 
Robert Martin held the throng spellbound with his 
eloquence. Again his hearers hung breathlessly 
upon every word, and at the close of the service 
congratulated each other that such a star had come 
into their midst. That was the verdict of the 
majority, but there were a few observant and 
thoughtful minds who found it difficult to lay hold 
of the simple Gospel truth among the flowery 
mazes of the preacher s eloquence. He appealed 
to the feelings and flattered the senses. From a 
literary and artistic point of view his discourse was 
without a flaw, but would it awaken the ungodly 
or make plainer to the seeking soul the narrow way 
of life, or strengthen the feet of any struggling in 
the heavenward way ? 



CHAPTER IV. 

AFTERNOON TEA. 

M r. and Mrs. Matheson left Hightown on 
Monday morning ; for the cares of business 
would not permit the merchant to remain 
longer away from the city, while his wife’s spirit 
was exercised concerning her household affairs. 
She was veritably a Martha, careful and troubled 
about many things, never happier than when at 
her own domestic helm. 

“ Now, Ada, you must be sure and write often ; 
and when you weary just run up to Glasgow, you 
know. Robert can easily spare you,” she said 
fussily. “ He has promised not to be selfish,” she 
said, when Ada and she were alone together a few 
minutes before the carriage came to take them to 
the station. “ I am afraid you will miss the 
refined and cultured circle of friends we have 
in St. Mungo’s ; my Church connection is such 
a comfort to me. But I daresay you will soon 

35 


36 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


make friends, for, of course, the best people will 
look you up. Well, my dear, good-bye. I ’m sure 
I don’t know how we are ever to do without you 
at home.” 

There were tears in Mrs. Matheson’s eyes as 
she spoke, for, in spite of a few weaknesses 
and peculiarities, she was at heart a good and 
motherly woman, and she loved her daughter 
tenderly. 

“You will soon grow accustomed to life without 
me, mamma, and don’t fret about me. I shall be 
very busy and happy, I am sure,” Ada replied 
bravely, but her heart was a little sore. But it was 
the parting awaiting her downstairs which would 
try her most of all. Mr. Matheson was pacing 
restlessly up and down the hall, impatiently 
longing for them to come down, for he too had a 
word for his daughter’s ear alone. He drew her 
into the study, shut the door, and took her to his 
heart. 

“ My darling, you don’t know what it costs your 
old father to leave you here — what a pang it gives 
him to think you don’t belong to him any more,” 
he said huskily. “ It is a fearful thing to have but 
one child, Ada. I know now wherein those who 
have large families are to be envied.” 

“ Don’t say I am not to belong to you any 
more, papa,” said Ada brokenly. “ Although I am 
married I am as much your daughter as ever ; 


AFTERNOON TEA, 


3 ? 


more so, for I only know now how good you have 
been to me, and how I love you.” 

“ And yet you went off and left me, my lassie ! 
said the merchant. “ But there, we are talking 
treason against Robert, and he does not deserve it. 
Now, my girlie, promise that you will let us know 
all your troubles, and if you think your mother or 
I can help you that you will come home or send 
for us to come to you.” 

‘‘ Yes, yes, papa, I promise; and you and mamma 
will come often to us. You will miss Robert in 
St. Mungo's pulpit on Sundays as much as you 
will miss me at home," she said, smiling through 
her tears. He shook his head, and just then the 
carriage swept up to the door, and his wife’s voice 
called to them that it was time they were off. 
Then he clasped his darling to his heart again, 
bade God bless and keep her, and hurried away. 
Ada did not follow him. She moved over to the 
window and watched them drive away, with a 
strange sense of loneliness and desolation stealing 
over her. She realised in a moment something 
of what is involved in leaving the home-nest, and 
felt that she was really only now beginning life. 
Her sombre thoughts were interrupted by her 
husband’s voice, and, as of yore, these dear tones 
made every shadow flee. Very gentle, very tender 
was Robert Martin for his young wife that morn- 
ing, understanding very well the nature of her 


38 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


feelings. In obedience to his request, she put on 
her bonnet, and they had a walk through the 
town together. Neither of them was particularly 
impressed with what they saw. Hightown was by 
no means either a picturesque or beautiful place ; 
it was emphatically a working town, the abode of 
working people. 

The slope of a gentle prominence facing the 
town was dotted with the villas of the prosperous 
tradespeople and the more imposing dwellings of 
the manufacturers ; but these were not picturesque 
surroundings, for the landscape was flat and barren 
and uninteresting. 

“ I wonder if I made a mistake in accepting this 
charge, Ada,*’ said the minister as they slowly 
retraced their steps through the unlovely labyrinth 
of streets. “ I am afraid neither of us will find it a 
very congenial atmosphere.” 

“ Don’t speak in that way, Robert,” said his wife 
gently. “We do not know for what purpose we 
have been guided here ; but that it will be for our 
own ultimate good I do not doubt.” 

“ I will try and take your view of it. Well, my 
darling, I hope you are prepared for an avalanche of 
visitors, and that your drawing-room is the pink of 
propriety, for the keen eye of the Hightown matron 
will take in every minute detail,” he said lightly. 

“ What nonsense you talk, Robert. I do not 
expect visitors for at least a fortnight.” 


AFTERNOON TEA. 


39 


“Then you will be agreeably, or perhaps dis- 
agreeably, disappointed. Curiosity will not allow 
them to sit at home when there is a new minister’s 
wife and a newly-furnished manse to inspect. My 
wife was the loveliest woman in church yesterday.” 

“ In your eyes, of course, she was,” responded 
Ada demurely, but her fair cheek flushed at his 
fond praise. “But, now, don’t talk any more 
nonsense to me, for I am weighed down by the 
responsibility of my first dinner. I am afraid my 
cook looks upon me with a mixture of pity and 
contempt, I looked so bewildered when she came 
to me for her orders this morning.” 

Robert Martin was right in thinking that the 
ladies of the congregation would not be tardy 
in coming to pay their respects to the wife of 
their minister. On Wednesday afternoon young 
Mrs. Martin was writing a letter in the study, her 
husband having gone to visit one of his sick 
parishioners, when Katy the housemaid announced 
visitors in the drawing-room. The young wife 
took the three cards from the maid’s hand and 
read the names — Mrs. Maitland, Mrs. Douglas, 
Miss Maitland. It was but natural that the young 
wife should regard it as an ordeal to face the 
unknown trio. However, she rose bravely and 
proceeded upstairs. The slight nervousness she 
could not quite overcome brought a rich flush to 
her usually somewhat pale face, and, though quite 


40 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


unconscious of it herself, she had rarely looked 
better than she did when she stepped into the 
drawing-room that afternoon. The pretty tea 
gown of crimson Cashmere, with its trimmings of 
delicate lace, became her fair beauty well, and 
the few ornaments she wore were costly and in 
exquisite taste. The ladies rose. Mrs. Martin 
bowed and wished them good afternoon, saying 
she was pleased to see them. In that first con- 
fused glance she could not tell whether they were 
young or old, but she did hear a great rustling of 
silk attire, which proclaimed that they were richly 
dressed. 

“ We did not delay coming, Mrs. Martin, because 
we felt so for you, being alone in this strange 
place,” said the elder of the three, a very handsome 
woman with a clear, cold eye, and shrill, harsh 
voice. “ I am Mrs. Maitland of Maitland Park. 
My husband has been long connected with Wello- 
gate Church, and, though we often worship in the 
English church, which is quite near to us, we have 
always a warm side to Wellogate. Mrs. Douglas 
is my daughter ; she married her father s junior 
partner in the mills. So now you know all about 
us, and I hope we will be friends.” 

“ I hope so, Mrs. Maitland,” Ada said quietly, 
and wished with all her heart that her husband 
would come in. She had never been so thoroughly 
uncomfortable in her life, for she could think of 



VISITORS ANNOUNCED 


Face p. 40 














AFTERNOON TEA. 


41 


nothing to say, and yet she was not by nature very 
reserved. 

“ What a dear old garden you have here, 
Mrs. Martin ! ” said the youngest lady. “ It is 
quite a surprise to see it here right in the heart of 
the town.'* 

Mrs. Martin turned her eyes gratefully on the 
sweet face of the speaker and made a ready 
answer. Florence Maitland was only a girl in 
years like herself, and somehow in that first 
moment a feeling of friendliness sprang up 
between them. She was as different as possible 
from her haughty mother and her still haughtier 
sister, who sat erect, calm and icy as a statue void 
of feeling or life. After Florence spoke conversa- 
tion flowed more freely, and when Katy brought 
in the tea-tray Mrs. Martin was quite at her ease 
and rather enjoying the conversation. The ladies 
were quick to note the elegant appointments of 
Mrs. Martin’s afternoon tea service, and inwardly 
pronounced it too fine for a ministers wife. 
Before tea was over another visitor was announced, 
a lady who presented in every way a complete 
contrast to those already seated in Mrs. Martin’s 
drawing-room. She was a little woman, plain of 
feature and dowdy of attire, wearing a shabby 
brown merino, cotton gloves, and a depressed- 
looking bonnet. When the maid announced her 
name, Miss Rachel Buchanan, the ladies looked 


42 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


at each other with a very significant expression. 
Mrs. Martin, too much of a lady and too true a 
woman to bow down to silk attire, received the 
plain visitor with much more ease and grace than 
she had exhibited to the Maitlands. The conven- 
tional bow did not satisfy Rachel Buchanan, for 
she held out her hand to the ministers wife, 
gripped the delicate white fingers firm and fast in 
hers, and, looking straight into the sweet earnest 
eyes, spoke some words audible to Ada alone. 
They were simply, “ My dear, God bless you,” but 
they were the sweetest which any strange lips had 
yet uttered to the young wife in her new home. 
If this was the sister of the man who had opposed 
her husband’s election to Hightown, and if her 
brother at all resembled her, then Mr. Matheson 
had been right in saying that the Buchanans might 
prove themselves Robert’s best friends in High- 
town. A distant bow now passed between the 
Maitlands and Miss Buchanan, and almost 
immediately the earlier visitors rose to go. 
Mrs. Martin parted with them at the drawing- 
room door, thanked them for their visit and their 
kind invitation to Maitland Park, and, with a 
feeling of relief, went back to Miss Buchanan. 

“ I am no great visitor, Mrs. Martin,^' said the 
elder woman, “ and but for my brother I should 
probably not have been here to-day. I was not at 
church on Sabbath, so I did not see you. I am 


AFTERNOON TEA. 


43 


astonished to find you so young. Why, my dear, 
you are only a bairn/’ 

“ A little more,” laughed Mrs. Martin gleefully, 
and, drawing in her chair nearer her visitor, took 
her teacup in her hand and prepared for a cosy 
chat. “ I am so glad you came to-day, and I hope 
you will come often. Miss Buchanan. I shall need 
at least one friend in Hightown.” 

“ I am afraid Rachel Buchanan is hardly the 
friend for a young, bright creature like you, 
Mrs. Martin,” said Miss Buchanan, with a grave, 
sweet smile. “ And there are many who will seek 
your friendship, never fear. Only, perhaps when 
you are in trouble you may find me useful. I am 
always more acceptable in the house of mourning 
than the house of mirth.” , 

“ I am quite sure you are just teasing me, 
Miss Buchanan,” said Ada in her happy way. 
‘‘ And I mean to have you for my friend whether 
you will or no. There is Mr. Martin’s knock. Do 
you believe me, I longed to hear it half-an-hour 
ago more than I do now, I felt so nervous with 
these ladies ? There, is that not a stupid speech. 
Miss Buchanan ? Katy, will you please ask 
Mr. Martin to come upstairs ? ” 


CHAPTER V. 


A PLAIN WOMAN. 


*Y husband, Miss Buchanan,” said Mrs. Martin 
when the minister entered the room. 

“I am very pleased to see Miss Buchanan,” 
he answered a little pompously, and offered his 
hand to the shabby little woman who presented 
such a contrast to his fair, young wife. 

“Will you have a cup of tea, Robert?” Ada 
asked. “ I am so sorry you did not return a little 
earlier. I had some other visitors.” 

“Yes, I met the ladies from Maitland Park just 
at the foot of Wellogate,” replied the minister. “ Is 
your brother well. Miss Buchanan ? ” he added, turn- 
ing to the visitor, who did not look quite so much 
at her ease as she had done a few minutes before. 

“Yes, thank you, he is well; busy as usual,” 
answered Miss Buchanan. “ We are thankful that 
there has been a little improvement in business of 
late.” 


44 


A PLAIN WOMAN. 


45 


‘‘ I am glad to hear it,” replied the minister with- 
out much cordiality. " I have been visiting a sick 
woman to-day in Patience Lane. Such a place ! 
I was ashamed to find any of my church members 
living in such a hovel.” 

“What was the name, Mr. Martin?” asked Miss 
Buchanan with interest. 

“ Duncan ; the husband is one of your brother's 
work-people, I think.” 

“Yes, they are very decent people reduced by 
much distress. George Duncan is very delicate, 
and is seldom able to work full time. They had 
four children, and have lost them all. I am ex- 
tremely sorry for them both. You will find a good 
deal of distress in the parish likely. Times have 
been so bad of late, and mill-workers are as a 
rule so thriftless that they have little to fall back 
upon. Then there has been a lot of sickness. 
Autumn is the unhealthiest season of the year in 
Hightown.” 

“ Indeed ; how is that?” asked Mrs. Martin. 

“We can hardly tell. The fogs and the cold 
winds are always trying here in September and 
October,” answered Miss Buchanan. 

“Have you hitherto taken any active part in 
church work. Miss Buchanan?” asked Mr. Martin 
presently. 

“ I have always been accustomed to do a little. 
1 have conducted the Dorcas society and the 


46 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


mothers’ meetings for years, simply because Dr. 
Ainslie had neither sister nor wife, but I shall be 
very glad to deliver my reins of office into Mrs. 
Martin’s hands,” responded Miss Buchanan with a 
slight smile. 

“ Oh, no,” cried Ada ; you had much better 
keep them. Miss Buchanan. I shall be very happy 
to sit at your feet and learn of you. I know so 
little, and you must know so much.” 

“ Perhaps you can tell me, then, whether there is 
any society or fund in the church for the benefit 
of such cases as that of the Duncans,” said the 
minister inquiringly. 

Rachel Buchanan shook her head. 

“No; there has never been anything of the 
kind. Those who employ work-people look after 
them if they feel so inclined ; if not, those in dis- 
tress must just suffer. I have often wished that 
some organised plan of visitation and relief could 
be instituted. In so large a parish as Wello- 
gate there must of necessity be many needy 
ones.” 

“You would not confine the relief to the church 
itself then ? ” said Ada inquiringly. 

Miss Buchanan’s eyes filled with tears. 

“ My dear Mrs. Martin, when you are as old as 
I, and have seen as much, you will know that it is 
those outside the pale of the church who are gener- 
ally in the greatest need both of spiritual and 


A PLAIN WOMAN 


47 


physical aid ; and in this parish alone, I regret 
to say, there are hundreds who have never been 
within a church door/* 

‘‘ Dear me, how terrible ! ” exclaimed the young 
wife, with earnest, shining eyes. “ What a work it 
would be to bring all these into the fold, would it 
not, Robert ? ” she added appealingly to her hus- 
band. 

“ It would, but it is beyond the bounds of 
possibility In every city and large town there 
must be lapsed masses whom it is impossible to 
reach/* 

“Would you say impossible, Mr. Martin?” asked 
Miss Buchanan with a peculiar swift glance from 
her expressive eyes. 

“ I would. It has been proved by philanthropists 
and practical men times without number/* returned 
the minister quietly. 

“ Ah well ! Sometimes when man lays work 
down God takes it up, and with Him all things are 
possible,** said Rachel Buchanan in her low, earnest 
tones. “ Well, Mrs. Martin, I must go. It is 
almost five. I have been here quite an hour.** 

“That is not long,** said Ada with her sweet, 
kind smile. “ You will come again soon ? ** 

“ I cannot say. I do not visit much. But you 
will come and see me surely. We live in Scotland 
Place, the corner house, within sight of the mills. 
I shall be looking for you soon/* said Miss Buchanan. 


48 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON, 


“ My brother will be round some evening, Mr. 
Martin. He is much occupied during the day. 
I often tell him he is the hardest-wrought man 
in his own employment. Good afternoon. May 
I express the hope that you will have a very happy 
and useful life in High town so long as you elect to 
remain with us?’^ 

“ Thank you ; good afternoon,” was all the min- 
ister said, and, opening the drawing-room door, 
bowed low to the visitor. His wife accompanied 
her to the landing and there bade her a warm 
farewell. She felt drawn to Rachel Buchanan in 
no ordinary degree ; her own quick sympathies 
discerned and responded to the large, warm, 
womanly heart which beat beneath that plain 
exterior, and she instinctively felt that Rachel 
Buchanan was a woman to be not only trusted but 
dearly loved. 

“Is she not a charming woman, Robert?” she 
asked enthusiastically. “ Her appearance is only 
disappointing until she begins to speak, then you 
wonder how you ever thought her plain.” 

“You are a little enthusiast, Ada,” said the 
minister smiling slightly. “In my opinion Miss 
Buchanan is a very ordinary woman who prides 
herself upon being original and eccentric.” 

“ O Robert, I do not know how you can say so ! 
I am sure there is no pride about her.” 

“ What is it but pride which makes her brother 


A PLAIN WOMAN 


49 


and her live in a poor plain style and affect 
humility when they are fabulously wealthy? I 
met Mr. Maitland of Maitland Park to-day in the 
town. Of course I did not know him, but he came 
up frankly and spoke to me on the street. I had 
quite a long talk with him, and he gave me a very 
good idea of affairs in the church. They have 
been too long in the hands of David Buchanan and 
his sister, and we must take up a decided position 
at once. I do not want you to become too intimate 
with Miss Buchanan, Ada.'* 

Ada sat silent, a slight shade stealing over her 
fair face. 

“You will of course take precedence before Miss 
Buchanan in all church work, as a minister's wife 
should," he continued. “ I was sorry you yielded 
up your rights so readily. You will need to learn 
to be a little less impulsive, dear." 

“ But, Robert, she is so much older than I, and 
I am sure fitter in every way for such work, and, 
oh ! I am sure she is a good, true woman," Ada 
maintained earnestly. 

“ My love, I did not deny it ; only she is self- 
opinionated and crotchety, like all middle-aged 
single women, and I do not want you imbued with 
her Quixotic ideas, my darling, or I am afraid we 
will begin to disagree." 

“ Do you think it is Quixotic in her to be grieved 
because there are so many in the parish who have 




50 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


drifted away from all good influences?'* asked 
Ada. 

‘‘ No ; but she would deal with them in a 
Quixotic manner/* said the minister a trifle im- 
patiently. ‘‘Listen to me, Ada. You must under- 
stand that the church at present is in a very low 
state, and that there are very few well-to-do 
families connected with it. In these circumstances 
my first aim will be to bring back as many of these 
as I can. Then when the membership and the 
funds are increased we will be better equipped to 
deal as a church with the outside masses. I have 
made good progress to-day, for Mr. Maitland pro- 
mised to return with his family to Wellogate. But 
for Buchanan he would never have gone away. 
His return will be followed naturally by that of his 
son-in-law and partner, Mr. Douglas of Earnclitfe. 
With the co-operation of these two liberal and 
wealthy men I expect to do wonders in a short 
time.** 

Ada Martin sat silent, her earnest eyes following 
the flight of a swallow which the bleak autumn 
winds had not yet driven from his haunt in the 
branching limes in the manse garden. 

“But come, my darling, let us lay aside this 
weary discussion at present,** said Robert Martin, 
vexed to see the shadow on the dear face. “Tell 
me now, did you not enjoy the visit of Mrs. 
Maitland and her daughters? I was delighted 


A PLAIN WOMAN. 


51 


when I met the carriage and guessed where they 
had been. I am so afraid you will miss all your 
old ties too much, Ada. An agreeable social circle 
will be the first thing which will reconcile us both 
to our new home.” 

“They were very kind and pleasant, dear,” Ada 
answered quietly. 

An hour ago she would have expressed her 
opinion freely, but now she did not care to say that 
but for the sunny smiles and pleasant unaffected 
words of Florence Maitland she would have found 
the visit insufferably formal and dreary. 

She was beginning to learn that hard but, for a 
woman, very common and necessary lesson — to 
ponder things in her heart and keep silence. 



CHAPTER VI. 

MAITLAND PARK. 


I ID you enjoy the services, Ada? Did I do 
well to-day ? ” 

That question Robert Martin asked his 
wife on the evening of his second Sabbath's 
ministration in Wellogate. Dinner was over, and 
they were sitting together in the cosy study in the 
fading evening light. There were books in plenty 
on the table, and the tapers ready to light the gas, 
but both found the brief pause 'twixt daylight and 
darkness too pleasant to be broken. 

“Why do you ask, dear? In my eyes you 
always do well,” the young wife answered with a 
smile. 

“ I sometimes wish you would be a little more 
critical, Ada. It would be a great help to me. 
I have heard of a minister’s wife who mercilessly 
cut her husband’s sermons to pieces, until, figura- 
tively speaking, he had not a leg to stand on.” 

52 


MAITLAND PARK. 


53 


“ I am afraid you would not like that, Robert,” 
said his wife quietly. 

“ It might be good for me whether I liked it or 
not. Come now, tell me what you think I made of 
my text this afternoon ? ” 

“As much as could be made of it, dear. Your 
description of the wanderings of the Israelites in 
the wilderness was really splendid. It laid the 
whole scene so graphically before us ; but ” 

“ But what ? ” 

“ I thought after you had finished that it was a 
little unsatisfactory. I kept waiting for the applica- 
tion. I expected yoii to compare our present life 
in this world to the wanderings of the chosen 
people in the desert, and I felt just a little 
disappointed when you left off just where you did.” 

As she spoke the young wife looked a little 
timidly at her husband's face to see how her first 
adverse criticism would be taken. His face 
expressed a little surprise, but there was a smile on 
the lips which gave her courage to proceed. 

“ I hoped you will not be vexed with me, dear, 
because I could not help the thought coming into 
my mind, that if there were any seeking or anxious 
souls in the church, they would not be helped any 
nearer peace by your elaborate description of the 
Israelites' journey to Canaan. Perhaps it is 
because I am only a woman and do not know very 
much, but I cannot help thinking that, whatever 


54 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


his subject, it is incumbent on a minister to apply 
it to present needs. I think no sermon should 
be preached without some direct Gospel truth in 
it.” 

“Upon my word, my darling, you are criticising 
me with a vengeance,” exclaimed Robert Martin, 
and his voice betrayed that he did not quite relish 
the performance. “ I know your predilection for 
evangelistic discourses ; but, Ada, a congregation 
would soon weary of that. It is necessary to 
encourage and interest Christian people in holy 
things as well as to awaken the ungodly.” 

“ I think you are misunderstanding me, Robert, 
as I feared you would,” said his wife in her gentle 
tones. “ I do not say that you should preach 
evangelistic or revival sermons every Sabbath in 
Wellogate. I believe that would not be advisable. 
I only mean that you should have something in 
every sermon you preach suited for the unconverted 
and the anxious as well as for your own Christian 
members.” 

“You don’t know what you suggest, Ada. It 
is not so easy a thing to write sermons as you 
imagine ; it would certainly be no light task to 
combine all these and do them justice within the 
limits of one discourse.” 

“ I daresay not. I know you do your utmost, 
Robert, and it is very unreasonable of me to find 
fault. It is easy to suggest improvements, very 


MAITLAND PARK. 


55 


difficult to carry them into execution. We will 
not say any more about it now,” she said. “ Did 
you not think it was a little odd of the Maitlands 
to calmly fill up Mr. Buchanan’s pew this morning? 
I was quite vexed for poor Miss Buchanan. She 
had to sit behind, and they never even looked to 
see whether she had a book or not until she leaned 
over and asked for them.” 

‘‘ I daresay they did not know it was Buchanan’s 
pew, dear,” said the minister a trifle absently, for he 
was pondering his wife’s remarks about his sermon. 
They had opened up a new and rather conflicting 
vein of thought. 

“Oh they must have known quite well, the 
names are printed so legibly on the book-board ! 
Most people would have been quite annoyed at 
their seat being so completely appropriated. But 
Miss Buchanan’s expression never changed. I 
really think she has a sweet, kind, true face, 
Robert.” 

“ Dear me, Ada, with what an absurd halo you 
invest that plain woman ! I never thought you 
were half so romantic,” said the minister a trifle 
testily, for the thoughts suggested by her criticism 
of his preaching were probing deeper still. “ Do 
you know we are to dine at Maitland Park to- 
morrow ? ” 

“ No ; are we?” 

“Yes; I forgot to tell you. I looked in on 


56 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


Mr. Maitland at his office yesterday morning and 
he asked me.” 

“ I think Mrs. Maitland might have sent a card, 
Robert. I hope I am not proud, but she knows 
well enough what is proper, and I can’t have her 
patronising me,” said the young wife quickly. 
“ Do you think we should go ? ” 

“Why, of course! Why should we stand on 
ceremony ? I am afraid you will set a bad 
example to the ladies of the congregation if you 
begin in that way,” said the minister in an amused 
voice. “ It is quite possible that Mrs. Maitland, 
being the wife of a man who has risen from 
comparative obscurity, may not be so familiar with 
the usages of polite society as yourself, and so you 
must be merciful.” 

“ O Robert, dear, don’t let us speak any more 
about anything to-night I I don’t think either of 
us is in a good mood, and it is Sabbath night. Do 
light the gas and read something to me. I feel all 
out of sorts.” 

“ What shall I read, poetry or prose ? ” inquired 
Robert Martin, approaching the book shelves. 

“ Poetry, please ; some of those lovely bits from 
Wordsworth. You know so well where to find 
them. I might go hunting through all his works 
and not find them after all.” 

Gratified by the compliment to his taste in 
selecting poetical gems, the minister took down the 


MAITLAND PARK. 


57 


elegantly bound copy of Wordsworth from its 
place among the poets, and very speedily the brief 
annoyance caused by their conversation was swept 
away and forgotten in their mutual enjoyment of 
the delightful minstrel of the lakes. 

In accordance with her husband’s desire, though 
somewhat against her own inclination, young 
Mrs. Martin prepared herself to dine at Maitland 
Park on Monday evening. They drove out in a 
close conveyance, and as the early October dusk, 
had fallen before they left home they could not see 
very distinctly the extensive and finely laid-out 
grounds which surrounded Maitland Park. The 
place, however, was very new. Summer sun and 
winter storms had not yet dimmed the elaborate 
gilding which adorned the massive iron gateway, 
the lodge would have been improved by some ivy 
or creeping things to shelter its naked walls, and 
the trees which had been plentifully planted were 
still very young and slender. The limes which 
grew upon each side of the avenue had thriven best, 
and in summer their foliage made quite a pleasant 
shade. The house itself was very imposing, a 
square solid pile of masonry with long wide 
windows and a broad flight of steps up to the hall 
door. It was imposing, but not picturesque nor 
beautiful, but when you looked at it you felt that 
it must have cost a great deal of money. I am not 
sure but that that was the very effect its owners 


58 ROBERT MARTIN'S LESSON. 

desired to impress upon the onlooker’s mind. 
Young Mrs. Martin was in evening attire, and had 
only a fur mantle wrapped about her. She gave 
it to the servant in the hall, and saying she need 
not go to a dressing-room, waited a moment till 
her husband had laid aside his overcoat and hat, 
then both followed the maid upstairs. The 
drawing-room at Maitland Park was lofty and 
handsome, its furnishings costly and elaborate, but 
it lacked that air of luxurious comfort which many a 
homelier room can boast. To economise labour and 
preserve her expensive furniture Mrs. Maitland had 
dispensed with fires in her public rooms, and gas 
was substituted, burning in little jets at the back of 
the highly-polished steel grates. These cold lights 
did not in any way add to the comfortable aspect 
of the drawing-room. Mrs. Maitland, resplendent 
in velvet and point lace, was reclining at her ease 
in one of the low chairs, but when the servant 
announced Mr. and Mrs. Martin she rose and 
stepped forward with an affable smile. 

“ So glad to see you, Mr. Martin ! delighted, 
I am sure, to welcome you both to Maitland Park ! ” 
she said effusively, shaking hands with both. 
‘‘Would you believe it, Mrs. Martin, Mr. Maitland 
only told me this morning that he had asked you 
to dinner? So like a man, my dear, isn’t it ? You 
will just need to excuse plain fare. My cook is so 
particular that unless she knows in good time she 


MAITLAND PARK. 


59 


will nor put herself about for anybody ; positively 
she won^t. Had I known in time I would have 
asked some friends to meet you. You will just see 
our own family circle to-night. It includes Mr. 
and Mrs. Douglas, of course, who will be over from 
Earncliffe presently.” 

Quite breathless with her long explanation and 
apology Mrs. Maitland sank into her chair ; 
Mrs. Martin quietly begged her not to make any 
apology, for none was needed, and seated herself 
on an ottoman opposite her hostess. That lady 
immediately proceeded to make a keen and critical 
survey of the exquisite dress worn by the minister’s 
wife, and to wonder where she had got it, for there 
was a style about it which quite eclipsed the 
highest effort of the Hightown modiste^ who had 
been for some years with a fashionable firm in 
London. The material was rich silk of an exquisite 
grey shade, but it was made simply and plainly in 
accordance with the wearer’s express direction 
and desire. It fitted the girlish figure to perfection, 
and the massive but chaste gold collar, half hidden, 
half revealed by the lace which fell about the sweet 
white throat, with bracelets to match, were her only 
ornaments. Looking at the two women before 
him, the minister of Wellogate felt prouder of his 
wife than he had ever felt before, and, if it must be 
told, he rather relished the plainly expressed 
surprise and chagrin on the face of Mrs. Maitland 


6o 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


Before any conversation could be carried on, 
Mr. Maitland entered the room, accompanied by 
his son Frank, a lad of eighteen, who had just 
returned from school and was but newly introduced 
to the mill. The wealthy papermaker was a stout 
man, with grey hair and a rubicund countenance, 
and a very pompous and overbearing manner. His 
son was an inoffensive, good-looking boy, who 
looked with genuine admiration on the minister’s 
pretty wife when his mother introduced him. 

“ So you have got this length ! Glad, I ’m sure, 
to see you ; very glad ! Hope you ’ll always feel 
yourselves at home at Maitland Park,” said Mr. 
Maitland, rubbing his plump white hands together. 
“ Well, sir, and what is your opinion of the place 
now, eh? Mrs. Martin, Ao you think it’ll do, eh?” 

“ I hope and expect that we will be both happy 
and useful in Hightown, Mr. Maitland,” answered 
Ada in her sweet, quiet tones. “ It is too soon yet 
to pass an opinion on the place.” 

“Prudent, eh? I admire prudence, and you’ll 
need it all, I can tell you, in this lively place,” 
laughed the papermaker in his boisterous fashion. 
“ My dear, isn’t it about time John and Isabel 
turned up?” he asked, turning to his wife. “And 
where ’s that monkey, Flo ? She ’s never at hand 
when she ’s wanted.” 

“ I am here, papa ! ” cried a sweet ringing voice in 
the doorway, “and here are John and Isabel too !” 


MAITLAND PARK. 


6i 


At sight of Florence Maitland^s happy face Mrs. 
Martin’s somewhat drooping spirits revived, and 
she returned her warm hand-clasp with a grateful 
pressure and a gleam from her sweet eyes which 
won Florence’s heart again as it had done at the 
manse. 

Ada also looked with interest at the fine, frank, 
handsome face of John Douglas, and as she returned 
his hearty hand-clasp also she wondered why he 
had ever wooed and married his cold and stately 
wife. Presently the gong sounded ; Mrs. Martin 
accepted her host’s proffered arm, while her husband 
took down Mrs. Maitland, and the rest followed to 
the dining-room. Needless to say Mrs. Maitland’s 
plain fare was a very elaborate repast, served with 
due magnificence and ceremony. Mrs. Martin was 
not surprised ; she had fully expected it. During 
dinner Mr. Maitland monopolised the conversation. 
He addressed his remarks to the minister, but his 
tone was so loud and his manner so overbearing 
that instinctively the rest of the company kept 
silence and listened. Even Robert Martin did not 
contradict him, whereat Ada marvelled a little, for 
he expressed opinions and laid down arguments 
which she knew very well her husband did not 
approve. She was not sorry when the meal was 
over, and Mrs. Maitland rose from the table. She 
hoped for a little chat with Florence in the drawing- 
room, but in this she was disappointed, for she was 


62 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


at once appropriated by her hostess, who proceeded 
to catechise her concerning her parents and her 
life previous to her marriage. 

“O mamma, I am quite sure Mrs. Martin is 
tired to death answering questions!” cried Florence 
at length. '‘Shall I play something, or perhaps 
you will, Mrs. Martin ? Are you at all musical ? ” 

"Yes, I love music. Do you sing?” Ada asked, 
heaving a perceptible sigh of relief. 

" Oh yes, we all sing. Come and let me show 
you two new songs I had sent me from London,” 
she said coaxingly, and Ada rose and joined her at 
the piano. The gentlemen entered the room just 
then, and Mrs. Maitland's attention was diverted 
for a moment from her lady guest. 

" I saw you were bored. Isn't it pokey sitting 
talking about servants and houses and things,” 
whispered Florence slily. "Don't look at me 
reprovingly ; I don't mean any disrespect to 
mamma. All elderly ladies speak about these 
things. But you are only a girl like me, and I want 
to talk to you. Do you know I never saw any one 
half so lovely as you?” 

" Oh, hush. Miss Maitland 1” said Ada, her cheek 
flushing. " Don't talk nonsense.” 

"It isn't nonsense; it's truth. Don't call me 
Miss Maitland. You know my name. John 
Douglas calls me Flossie; I like that best. Do 
you know, Mrs. Martin, I love John Douglas as 


MAITLAND PARK. 


63 


well as if he were my own brother ; a thousand 
times better than that stupid boy Frank, who gives 
himself such airs. Don’t you think John is nice?” 

“ I do, indeed,’* said Ada, and glanced with 
increased interest at John Douglas’s fine face, yet 
smiling a little at his sister-in-law’s candour. 

‘‘Nice! he’s perfectly splendid, and he’s a real 
true Christian gentleman in everything. When he 
talks to me seriously I feel far better than if I had 
been at church. Let me tell you a secret. He is 
far too good for Isabel, and she doesn’t love him 
one quarter as much as he deserves. I ’ll tell you 
all about it another time. May I come and see 
you by myself some day ? ” 

“ Certainly. I shall be delighted to see you,” 
answered Ada, amused by the unconventional 
manner of the young lady ; then their talk was 
interrupted by Mr. Maitland, who came and seated 
himself by Mrs. Martin, and despatched Florence to 
exhibit her musical skill. 

The evening passed pleasantly enough, but Ada 
was not sorry when their cab came and they had to 
say good-night. 

“ Well, what do you think of them, Ada ? ” asked 
the minister when they drove away. 

“ I don’t know what to think.” 

“No more do I. They must be immensely 
wealthy, and if I can keep the old gentleman in 
good humour he will do anything for the church.” 


64 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSOR 


“ I like him least, Robert. He jars upon me, and 
he holds his opinions with great tenacity.” 

“ Most self-made men do. I believe he is not 
a bad fellow. He is kind and liberal at heart — 
crotchety a little though. He has taken a fancy to 
Buchanan’s seat, and I must get it for him some- 
how.” 

“There are plenty empty seats in the church, 
Robert, without turnffig the Buchanans out. I am 
afraid they would resent it.” 

“ They may, but I am pledged to ask them to 
remove. The pew is too big for them, and as 
Buchanan is only a half-day hearer, he should not 
be obstinate in the matter.” 

“ And will you really ask him to give up his seat, 
Robert?” 

“Yes; I mean to beard the Hon in his den 
to-morrow. I am anxious to make his acquaint- 
ance. From what Mr. Maitland says he must be 
very eccentric, quite a character in fact. My love, 
how proud I was of you to-night! I never saw 
you look lovelier !” 

Even her husband’s praise, which usually fell so 
sweet on Ada Martin’s ears, could not bring the 
ready smile to her lips at that moment, for that 
vague, indescribable, but very bitter feeling of 
disappointment in her husband had stolen into her 
heart again. 



CHAPTER VII. 

PARISHIONERS. 

I|^ GOTLAND PLACE was not an aristocratic 
nor even a genteel locality. It ran parallel 
with the High Street, and, though wider and 
better paved than that busy thoroughfare, it was not 
by any means a more desirable place of abode. Yet 
in Scotland Place David Buchanan, owner of the 
Scotland Woollen Mills, and one of the wealthiest 
men in Hightown, elected to dwell. His house 
stood at the upper corner of Scotland Place, facing 
an open space which in times gone had been the 
village green, and where he had erected a drinking 
fountain for the benefit of the many hundred 
operatives who daily passed and repassed it ta and 
from his own and other mills. The corner house 
was a plain, unpretentious looking building, not a 
residence which many wealthy people would have 
voluntarily chosen. Old David Buchanan, whose 
name was still fragrant in Hightown because of his 
6.S 


66 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


many good deeds, had built the house in the earlier 
part of his own career, when Scotland Mills was a 
comparatively small concern ; and, though long 
before his death he had accumulated a considerable 
fortune, and could easily have followed the example 
of his compeers who had built themselves hand- 
some places of abode in that select locality on the 
face of Duffus Hill, he continued to dwell in the 
corner house until, save in memory, it knew him no 
more for ever. It was endeared to him by many 
associations. To it he had brought his wife, whom 
he had married somewhat late in life, because 
circumstances beyond the control of either had 
kept them separate in their youth. Here, also, his 
two children had been born, and, last of all, the old 
house became hallowed by undying memories of 
the gentle wife who left him in her prime, when her 
little ones still sorely needed her care. For all 
these reasons also it was endeared to the hearts of 
David and Mary Buchanan the younger. They 
had known no other home ; within its walls they 
had had their joys and borne their sorrows ; and 
every room was like an old friend who had loved 
and sympathised with them all their lives. So, for 
all these reasons, the brother and sister would not 
have exchanged that plain despised house for the 
palace of a king. Many wondered why neither 
had married, and of course the more imaginative 
weaved many a bright romance, which had its 


PARISHIONERS, 


67 


pathetic side, concerning these two who lived their 
quiet life together. If there was a romance at all, 
it is not my place here to tell it. If they were 
reticent concerning their inner life, why should any 
stranger seek to lift the veil ? Such lives are most 
beautiful in their silence concerning self. 

By his equals and contemporaries in the town 
David Buchanan was misjudged, simply because he 
was misunderstood. They called his plain living 
and unostentatious habits parsimony, and yet on 
the other hand when they were confronted by the 
munificence of his public and private charities they 
were struck dumb. When his name was mentioned 
they shrugged their shoulders and smiled an 
expressive smile. 

Queer fellow, Buchanan,** they would say if 
asked a direct question concerning him. “Marvellous 
business capacity and kind heart, but’* — an 
ominous shake of the head would finish the 
sentence and indicate the speaker’s conviction that 
there was something wrong somewhere. By one 
portion of the inhabitants of his native town, 
however, David Buchanan was appreciated and 
deservedly loved. That portion consisted of his 
own work-people and the poor and needy, who 
knew him best. He was kind and generous, but 
was seldom guilty of bestowing charity indis- 
criminately. He did not approve the system 
(which tends to pauperise) of giving money or 


68 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


goods freely without question or explanation — his 
aim was simply to help the poor to help them- 
selves. In this way he had done incalculable good 
in the place, and had made independent and honest 
citizens out of many who had been among the 
dregs of the population. He had assisted some to 
emigrate, had set up others in their own trade or 
calling, and the half of his own operatives, among 
them his most trusted servants, he had saved from 
moral ruin. Of course there were countless 
failures, for there are human beings, though com- 
paratively few, thank God, who are absolutely dead 
to every sentiment of morality or good ; of these 
David Buchanan had had his share. In his labours 
of love and mercy, the full extent of which only 
the day will reveal, David Buchanan was ably 
supported and aided by his sister. A woman can 
so often succeed where a man has utterly failed ! 
If she is a good woman and inspired by that 
Divine love and compassion which yearns unspeak- 
ably for the salvation and welfare of humanity her 
power and influence are almost without a limit. 
I do think that there are women who come very 
near the nature of Christ, about whom is breathed 
the very atmosphere of heaven. 

Among many other gifts to the town, David 
Buchanan had erected in the very heart of the 
Wellogate a substantial and commodious building 
intended to be used for missionary purposes. In 


PARISHIONERS, 


69 


this place, on Sabbath mornings, a mission school 
was held, which was attended by the very poorest 
children in the district Mr. Buchanan was the 
superintendent of this Sabbath school, a duty 
which, of course, precluded him from attending 
morning service at his own church. Hence 
Mr. Martin’s remark that he was only a half-day 
hearer. 

Miss Buchanan had not been at all annoyed at 
the appropriation of her pew by the Maitlands. 
She was honestly glad to see them in church again, 
and hoped they intended to return to their allegi- 
ance to Wellogate. But the idea that their 
occupation of the front pew in the gallery had 
been planned and carried out with the object of 
securing it to themselves did not for a moment 
occur to her. She was busy looking over her sick 
list on Tuesday forenoon preparatory to making 
her usual Tuesday visitation in the quarters of the 
poor, when the housemaid showed the minister into 
the dining-room. She was surprised but truly 
pleased to see him, and told him so in her sincere 
and hearty way, hastening to stir the fire to a 
brighter blaze and to offer him her brother’s com- 
fortable easy-chair on the hearth. 

“ David has just gone out ; he will be sorry to 
hear he has missed you. About three o’clock, 
when we dine, is the only time you can be sure ot 
finding him in the house,” she said with her pleas- 


70 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


ant smile. “Isn’t it cold for October? How is 
Mrs. Martin? Afraid of that raw and nipping air 
this morning ? Ah, well, she must be careful ot 
herself until she become acclimatised.” 

“ Mr. Buchanan will have gone to the mill, 
I suppose,” said Mr. Martin, stretching out his 
hands to the grateful warmth, for the morning air 
was chilly indeed for October. 

“ Yes ; and I must apologise for my attire. This 
is my visiting day, you know, and I have to dress 
accordingly. There are such places in that 
wretched Wellogate ! Talk about the slums of 
great cities — I could match them any day in the 
lanes and closes in Hightown ! You would see 
something of them that day you visited the 
Duncans ? ” 

“ Yes ; I was glad to escape from the not too 
salubrious air of their abode,” replied Mr. Martin. 
“As you are going out I will not detain you. Miss 
Buchanan. I may go on to the mill, I suppose ? 
I am anxious to see your brother on a small matter 
of.business.” 

The minister did not think fit to explain the 
nature of his business — in truth, he was a little 
afraid of Rachel Buchanan’s honest and fearless 
tongue. 

“ Oh yes ; David will be glad to see you, and if 
you have never been through a wool mill before 
you will be interested to see it. Well, if that is the 


PARISHIONERS. 


71 


case I will not press you to stay to-day, because it 
is time I was off. When will Mrs. Martin come 
and see me do you suppose ? 

" Ah, 1 cannot say ; she is not a great visitor. 
Much against her will she accompanied me to 
Maitland Park yesterday. We dined there last 
evening.” 

“Yes; that would be pleasant. Well, we are 
very plain folk, as you see, Mr. Martin ; but one 
thing you will be sure of here both from my 
brother and myself, and that is a hearty welcome 
at any and all times,” said Rachel Buchanan 
sincerely. “ Good morning ; my kind regards to 
Mrs. Martin. You will easily find your way, 
I think. The big chimney-stalk and the four little 
ones over yonder pertain to Scotland Mill, and you 
will soon find out my brother once you are within 
the gates. Good morning.” 

Robert Martin left the corner house, feeling 
annoyed, he could not tell why, at Rachel Buchanan. 
She had been frank and kind and pleasant enough, 
but she had exhibited none of that adoring defer- 
ence which the ladies of St. Mungo’s had been wont 
to lavish upon him, and which he had found so 
sweet. She spoke to him as if she was his equaL 
and he rather resented the independent and self- 
reliant manner in which she went about doing work 
in the parish. He felt that he, as minister of the 
Wellogate, should have a voice in the matter, but 


72 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


that never had occurred to Miss Buchanan. She 
had been so long accustomed to do her own work 
in her own way, and Dr. AinsHe had so implicitly 
and unquestioningly trusted her with the charge he 
could not undertake, that it was not to be wondered 
at that she did not think of making the young 
minister her confidarite and adviser. Life in High- 
town was evidently to teach Robert Martin a good 
many things of which he was ignorant before. He 
was thinking over several plans whereby he could 
impress Miss Buchanan with his own superior 
knowledge and rights, when he found himself at 
the great gates which gave entrance to Scotland 
Mills. He passed into the wide court-yard and 
asked a man wheeling a barrow where he would 
find Mr. Buchanan. The man directed him to the 
counting-house, which stood a little apart from the 
main buildings, and assured him he would find “the 
maister” there. The clerk, who opened the count- 
ing-house door in answer to the minister’s knock, 
ushered him into a comfortably furnished inner 
room, which had the word “private” printed on its 
glass door, and, leaving him there, said he would 
go for Mr. Buchanan, who was in the engine-house 
superintending some repairs going on there. In 
less than five minutes the door of the inner room 
was again opened, and David Buchanan entered. 
They shook hands, a brief “good morning” passed 
between them, and the minister resumed his seat. 


PARISHIONERS. 


73 


As he did so he looked keenly into the mill-owner’s 
face, for, in spite of himself, he was deeply interested 
in the man. It was not a handsome face. It was 
long and sallow and thin, the forehead high and 
deeply lined, the eyes deep-set and keen. The 
clean-shaven upper lip seemed to add to the wide- 
ness of the mouth, while the somewhat heavy chin 
and massive jaw gave a stern cast to the features. 
His hair and whiskers were plentifully streaked 
with grey, and there was a visible stoop in the tall, 
loose-looking figure which indicated that he was 
now going down the hill of life. His attire was 
careless though not slovenly, but it presented 
an odd contrast to the faultless garb of the 
minister. 

‘‘ I have to apologise for being so tardy in paying 
my respects to Mrs. Martin and yourself,” said 
David Buchanan in deep and not unmusical tones. 
‘‘I am a busy man, and though I did not come 
personally to express my wishes for your welfare in 
Hightown, they are none the less sincere. I hope 
you are likely to find it a congenial sphere, 
where your labour will be both pleasant and 
profitable.” 

“ Thank you ; as yet it is impossible for me to 
say,” said Robert Martin quietly. “ Plenty of hard 
work there will certainly be, for the church 
and parish have been much neglected of late 
years,” 


74 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


“ The church has certainly fallen away in 
numbers, but that can be traced to very natural 
causes,” said David Buchanan. “ Dr. Ainslie was 
in no sense of the word a popular preacher, though 
he was a sincerely good man. We are in hopes,” 
he added with a slight smile, " that you will fill the 
empty pews once more.” 

“ I hope so. Miss Buchanan would tell you that 
the Maitlands were in church on Sabbath morn- 
ing?” said Robert Martin inquiringly. 

‘‘She did, and I was glad to hear it, for their 
example will probably be followed,” returned David 
Buchanan. “Mr. Maitland’s father was one of the 
leading men in Wellogate in the early days of 
Dr. Ainslie’s ministry among us, and my father and 
his were colleagues in the eldership and warm 
friends as well.” 

“Ah, then, you must be intimately acquainted 
with the present Mr. Maitland.” 

“I have known him all his days, but we are 
not intimate,” returned David Buchanan briefly. 
“Were you at the house this morning? ” 

“Yes, but, as my business was with you I did 
not detain Miss Buchanan, who was going out,” 
answered the minister. 

The mill-owner nodded, but did not ask what 
was his business. Robert Martin wishv-d he 
would. 

“ I have come to proffer a request, Mr. Buchanan,” 


PARISHIONERS. 


75 


he said at length. ^‘In fact, I have a favour to 
ask.'' 

“ Which I shall be happy to grant if it be in my 
power," David Buchanan supplemented at once. 

“First, let me ask, have you a particular pre- 
dilection for the front pew in the gallery where you 
now sit ? ’’ 

David Buchanan elevated his eyebrows in sur- 
prise. 

“ I can hardly tell. I have sat there since the 
first day I went to church, a little fellow in socks 
and a white blouse. Yes, I believe I have a 
predilection for it, now that I come to think of 
it." 

“Then you would not be inclined to give it 
up?" 

“ That would depend on circumstances. If, for 
instance, the church should increase so rapidly that 
every inch of space was required, my sister and 
I would be glad to change our pew for a smaller 
one, or make room for others beside us.” 

“ Mr. Maitland and his family would like the pew, 
Mr. Buchanan, and, believing you would be quite 
willing to oblige them, seeing it is too large for you, 
I volunteered to ask you to do so." 

“ Did Mr. Maitland ask you to bring that request 
to me, Mr. Martin?" 

“ He knows I am here to-day, and for what 
purpose." 


76 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


“ Well, if the front pew in the gallery is essential 
to the comfort of Mr. Maitland and his family, let 
him have it by all means. I daresay my sister 
won’t mind the ch,ange,” said David Buchanan, 
with a peculiar dry smile, which made the minister 
feel intensely uncomfortable and wish he had not 
come. “Now, since that is settled, would you like 
to see through the mills ? I assure you it is an 
interesting sight.” 

“Thank you; yes. I should enjoy it,” said 
Robert Martin, rising as he spoke. “I hope 
I have not annoyed you by bringing such a request 
to you ? ” 

A sunny smile came upon David Buchanan’s 
face, relieving its stern gravity and making it look 
almost handsome. 

“ Oh, dear, no ; I am not so thin-skinned as all 
that ! ” he said cheerily. “ But I don’t mind telling 
you I would have given up my seat with a better 
grace had Maitland asked me himself. Forgive 
me if I offer advice unasked, Mr. Martin, but 
I think you would be wise to decline performing 
this sort of obligations for people. You will find 
too many ready to make use of you in this place, 
and you will soon find your position no sinecure. 
Well, if you are ready we will go.” 

Like many young men, Robert Martin had a 
high opinion of his own penetration and powers, 
and was accustomed rather to resent advice than 


PARISHIONERS. 


77 


to accept it. But on this occasion he could not 
help feeling grateful to David Buchanan for his 
words, they were uttered with such a depth of 
kindliness and were so evidently prompted by a 
generous purpose. 

An hour later he left Scotland Mills imbued 
with a deep respect and admiration for their 
proprietor ; and yet he could not quite understand 
him. 


6 




CHAPTER VIII. 

DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 


I N the more vigorous days of Doctor Ainslie’s 
ministry in Wellogate the kirk-session had 
consisted of eight members. That number, 
however, had been gradually diminished by death 
and other causes, and, as the vacancies had never 
been filled up, Mr. Martin found the church 
possessed of only four elders. 

These were David Buchanan, proprietor, and 
George Lawrie, manager, of Scotland Mills ; 
William Muirhead, a merchant in Market Street ; 
and the parish schoolmaster, who was also clerk 
to the session. As may be imagined, this state 
of affairs could not be satisfactory to the young 
minister. Before he could accomplish any reforms, 
or inaugurate the improvements he had in con- 
templation, he must have the co-operation of 
efficient and enlightened members of session. 
Accordingly he cast his eyes about to see where 
78 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 


79 


these were to be found. Mr. Maitland and John 
Douglas he immediately fixed upon ; also one 
Gavin Dunlop, a young solicitor lately established 
in Hightown, and rapidly making for himself a 
reputation in his profession. When these were 
secured another would probably be suggested to 
his mind. His first step was to consult the joint- 
proprietors of Maitland Mills, and to learn whether 
they would be willing to become nominees. 

Accordingly he betook himself one morning to 
the gigantic pile standing on the bank of the swift- 
running river which turned the wheels of so many 
great industries. He found the older partner of 
the firm alone in the private room, and was 
received with characteristic blandness and court- 
esy. Mr. Maitland affected a great regard for the 
gifted young minister of Wellogate, and it was his 
habit to praise him in his pompous and rather 
patronising way whenever an opportunity offered. 

“ Good morning. I like you to drop in to the 
milk in this unceremonious sort of way,'* he said, 
rubbing his hands pleasantly together. “ It is 
good both for you and me. I have always thought 
and said that there is too rigid a line drawn 
betwixt clergy and men of business. I have heard 
it remarked often that ministers have no head for 
business ; how can they have, bless me, when they 
live so much within the narrow limits of their 
profession, and never go where they could get 


8o 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


some practical knowledge ? But there, I am 
talking nonsense as usual. Mrs. Martin well, eh ? ” 
“Yes; thank you,” replied Mr. Martin, not 
thinking it worth his while to contradict the 
statement that he was talking nonsense, for as 
such, indeed, the minister regarded it. “ I am very 
much obliged to you for bidding me so cordially 
welcome in business hours, but I am afraid my 
visit is not altogether unceremonious. It is a 
church matter I have come about to-day.” 

“ Well, well ! delighted I am sure to advise or 
help,” said the mill-owner. “ I was just saying to 
Mrs. Maitland the other day that I was growing 
quite as deeply interested in Wellogate as my old 
father used to be.” 

“ I am heartily glad to hear it, for it gives me 
the hope that my errand will not be in vain,” said 
the minister. “ Probably you know that the 
kirk-session, like many other things in the parish, 
wants reform. It consists of only four members, 
and of the efficiency of these I am doubtful.” 

“ Isn’t Buchanan one?” queried Mr. Maitland. 

“ Of course, I except him, seeing there can be no 
doubt of his efficiency,” said Robert Martin hastily. 
“ Would you be willing to accept office ? ” 

“ Well, you see, I have never been mixed up in 
church squabbles, Mr. Martin, and there’s always 
something of that kind in a church, you know, if 
there’s any life in it at all,” said Mr. Maitland 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 


Si 


with a slow smile. “ But out of my personal 
regard for you, and to show you that I desire to 
strengthen your hands and help you in every way, 
I shall be very happy to accept office — if elected/’ 

** Oh, there can be no fear of that. Do you think 
I may count upon Mr. Douglas also ? ” 

“Ah, I can’t say. John is queer sometimes ; has 
peculiar notions about the fitness of things, but he 
is thoroughly conscientious. If he accepts, will 
do his duty better than any of his coadjutors, 
I believe ; but you must see him yourself.” 

“ Is he about the works ? ” 

“ No, he is at Dunlop’s office on a little business 
matter, a litigation affair which has cost us some 
trouble. Clever dog that Dunlop. He would 
make an elder for you now ; would carry every- 
thing before him, and his eye for business is 
something marvellous. He can see three times 
as far as most men.” 

“ I was thinking of him. He tells me he has 
only attended Wellogate since I came, and that he 
intends to become a member.” 

“Ah! that’s right! Get the young men into 
the church. It’s young blood we need to infuse 
new life into both Church and State. I believe 
you ’ll make the desert of Wellogate blossom like 
the rose, Mr. Martin,” said Mr. Maitland, smiling 
with delight at his own eloquence. “ Well, after 
you get a fuiiy-equipped session, what are you 


82 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


going to make it do, eh? Of course, you have 
some aim in view.” 

“ I have a great many aims, I confess,” laughed 
Robert Martin. ‘‘ I want the church renovated. 
Though we cannot alter its external appearance, 
we can at least beautify the interior. You must 
admit it stands in sore need. Then why should 
we not have an organ ? Is the manner in which 
the praise is conducted at present agreeable to you, 
Mr. Maitland ?” 

“ Certainly not. It is most offensive to a 
cultured ear, and has, without doubt, been one 
cause of so many secessions. Go on ! go on, and 
prosper, Mr. Martin! You are ambitious, but 
I like ambition in a young man, especially 
when, as in your case, it points to such worthy 
aims.” 

“ Ah ! then I can rely upon your support, and 
the knowledge will give me confidence. Of course, 
there will be a considerable number of prejudices 
to be overcome first ; but if the attendance keeps 
up and the membership continues to increase, and 
there is no reason to suppose otherwise, I am in 
hopes that, when the improvements come to be 
settled, the old-fashioned, prejudiced folk will be 
found decidedly in the minority.” 

I hope so. Have you ever spoken of these 
things to Buchanan?” 

“Not yet ; but I expect him to support me also. 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 


83 


I have had no reason to believe that he will stand 
in the way of the church’s advancement.” 

“ Perhaps not, perhaps not. He is eccentric, you 
know. Look how he spends his money; not in 
outward show, I promise you, though in far more 
foolish things. I ’m sure I hope you may be right, 
because he has a great influence over the poorer 
folk in the church. Perfectly natural and right 
that he should have too, when he gives them so 
much. The bond between them, of course, is that 
of debtor and creditor, and wherever he points 
they must go.” 

“ I should not think Mr. Buchanan a man likely 
to use his influence selfishly,” Robert Martin felt 
impelled to say. 

“ Oh, well, not always. I don’t want to be 
uncharitable, and really he was very generous 
about that seat. Would you believe, Douglas was 
in a perfect fury about it ? It was only the other 
day he learned the story. That monkey Flo let it 
out, and, as you would observe on Sunday, he 
took his wife into another pew. He talked of 
apologising to Buchanan ! Absurd nonsense, 
when the man gave the seat of his own free 
will.” 

'' Well, I think I will not detain you any longer, 
Mr. Maitland. I hope to see Mr. Douglas another 
time,” said the minister, hastening to change the 
subject, for the recollection of his interview with 


84 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


David Buchanan about the seat made him some- 
how very uncomfortable. 

*• Must you be off already ? Well, good morn- 
ing. Kindest regards to Mrs. Martin. Tell her 
my women-folk have all fallen in love with her, 
and that she must go soon and often to Maitland 
Park,” said Mr. Maitland effusively. 

The minister thanked him, shook hands, and 
went his way. By a happy chance he met the 
junior partner of the firm on his way back from 
the lawyer’s office, and they stood a moment to 
talk. A great contrast did John Douglas’s quiet, 
unobtrusive, yet sincerely earnest manner present 
to the gushing effusiveness which marked the 
demeanour his father-in-law usually presented to 
the world. In private life Mr. Maitland had been 
known to exhibit a very hasty and masterful 
temper, but before the public his urbanity was 
seldom ruffied. There are too many of his type, 
who wear their smiles outside and reserve their less 
pleasant looks for home, where they are most 
required, and where they would do most good. 

“ I am extremely glad that I have met you, 
Mr. Douglas,” said the minister. “ I have just 
been at the mill on a double errand.” 

“ Yes. What can I do for you ?” inquired John 
Douglas, with his pleasant smile. 

“ I need not beat about the bush, I suppose,” 
answered Robert Martin, smiling also. I am 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 


85 


about to reorganise the kirk-session, and I hope 
to secure you for the office of the eldership. Mr. 
Maitland has already promised to accept if elected.” 

John Douglas slightly shook his head. 

“ I am sorry to disappoint you, but I would 
rather not,” he said quietly. 

“ Why ? What possible objection can you have? 
There are no onerous duties connected with it, and 
I know of none fitter than you.” 

“You know very little about me, after all,” 
said John, quietly still and with a slight smile. 
“ Perhaps I might be allowed to be the best judge 
of my own fitness.” 

“ What are your objections ? Excuse me if 
I seem to press the question. It is my extreme 
anxiety to secure gentlemen of principle and 
standing that makes me urge you more than 
I might otherwise do.” 

“ I cannot give you any valid reason, except 
that I do not feel myself qualified for the position,” 
was all John Douglas replied. 

“ In what v.^ay ? ” 

“ I cannot explain myself further, Mr. Martin.” 

“ But, Mr. Douglas, forgive me if I remind you 
that it is the duty of such as you to strengthen my 
hands in my work. Single-handed, a minister is 
comparatively powerless. It is impossible for him, 
however willing he may be, to supervise every- 
thing,” said the minister with some warmth. 


86 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


“ I hope it will never be necessary for you even 
to attempt it, Mr. Martin,” said John gravely. 

Apart from the eldership, you will not find me 
unwilling to help, I assure you.” 

But it is exactly in the eldership I require help 
at present. Won’t you consider the matter ? Talk 
it over with Mrs. Douglas. I am sure she will urge 
it upon you as earnestly as I have done.” 

At mention of his wife’s name a peculiar shade 
of sadness darkened for a moment the sunshine in 
John Douglas’s pleasant eyes, but it passed as 
briefly as it came. 

“ It is not a matter in which my wife’s influence 
would be of any avail, Mr. Martin,” he said, still 
quietly, but even more decidedly. “ I must settle 
it with my own conscience, which, I take it, is my 
best guide and judge in every action of my life.” 

“ Undoubtedly,” said Robert Martin, not without 
a certain stiffness, which John was quick to note. 
“ Well, I suppose I can make nothing more of you, 
but I won’t forget your promise to assist in other 
ways.” 

“ You will find me ready enough to redeem any 
promise I make. I have never broken one in my 
life,” replied John. Then they parted. 

As he walked, somewhat slowly, across the 
green and down Scotland Place the minister was 
occupied thinking of the man from whom he had 
just parted. He was manly and sincere in his 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 


87 


refusal, and evidently acted under honest convic- 
tion that he was unfitted for the grave and 
responsible office of the eldership. For that he 
deserved and commanded respect ; for how few 
there were who would freely admit that they were 
not good enough ; how many were willing, nay, 
eager, to take responsibilities upon themselves 
without so much as pondering this question of 
fitness, so essential an element in a harmonious 
and useful whole ! A shining brass plate, with the 
words, “ Gavin Marsh Dunlop, W.S.,** engraved 
thereon suddenly riveted Mr. Martin’s attention, 
and, finding himself at the solicitor’s door, he 
involuntarily stood still, and, after a moment’s 
hesitation, rang the bell. The office-boy, without 
inquiring his name, showed him at once into his 
master’s presence. Mr. Dunlop was writing a 
letter when the visitor was ushered in, and did not 
look round till he had finished it. He jumped up 
with a brief apology, shook hands with the 
minister, and asked for Mrs. Martin. Then he 
poised himself on his desk stool, crossed his legs, 
and prepared for a chat. Gavin Dunlop was a 
smart, dapper young man, foppish in appearance 
and dress, possessed of good professional capacity, 
and having much conceit in the same. A man 
you might readily enough trust with any matter 
requiring his professional skill, but emphatically 
not a man whom you would make your friend. 


88 


ROBERT MARTIN'S LESSON. 


Mr. Martin explained the nature of his errand, 
received a ready response to his request, and then 
the talk drifted into less serious subjects. 

Mr. Dunlop was not troubled with any delicate 
scruples concerning his own fitness for the office, 
and, as it would give him a more substantial and 
responsible standing in the town, he was quite 
willing to accept it. 




CHAPTER IX. 

PUSHING ON. 

S IX men were nominated by the congregation 
for the office of the eldership ; of these, four 
receiving the largest number of votes were 
elected, and in due course ordained. They were 
Mr. Maitland and William Dryden, his cashier ; 
Doctor Carnegie and Gavin Dunlop, efficient men, 
every one. So the Wellogate Church began the 
new year under the happiest and most prosperous 
auspices. The eloquent discourses of its minister 
continued to attract large audiences to the some- 
time despised parish kirk, and his name became a 
household word in Hightown. 

Evidently determined not to spare himself, 
Mr. Martin took his Bible class on Sabbath morn- 
ings, and intimated a course of twelve lectures on 
the book of Job for the evenings throughout the 
winter. They were very largely attended, and were 
spoken of as an intellectual treat, giving evidence 

89 


90 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


of careful intelligent study by a cultured and 
scholarly mind. Mr. Martin was not at all intoxi- 
cated with his success ; he accepted it as his due. 
He told his wife laughingly that it was no more 
than he had expected, and teasingly reminded her of 
her own and her father’s dismal questionings regard- 
ing his fitness for the charge he had undertaken — a 
question of which, after all, he had been the best 
judge. Ada smiled, happy in his happiness, 
woman enough to rejoice in her husband’s success 
and popularity, of which she had, without doubt, 
just reason to be proud. While the minister of 
Wellogate thus distinguished himself in the church, 
his young wife was not less busy without its walls. 
Her work was of a different kind, her ministry not 
one which seeks applause, but which is performed 
silently in undreamed-of nooks and corners, with- 
out a thought of approval or reward. Robert 
Martin, himself busy with his own aims and plans, 
was really ignorant of the magnitude of the work 
his fragile young wife did in the parish. He knew 
she was out a great deal, he heard her speak of her 
visiting days and her poor folk, but he did not 
trouble to inquire very minutely into it. He did 
not visit much himself. He had promised a house- 
to-house visitation when he came first to the parish, 
but the weeks flew by and he had never yet seen 
his way to accomplish or even to begin it. He 
had thoughts of suggesting the employment of a 


PUSHING ON, 


91 


missionary to aid him in that part of his work, but 
deferred it until he saw his way clearly. 

When the lectures and the Bible class were sus- 
pended for the season, he began to bestir himself 
in other things connected with the church. He 
had laboured conscientiously all winter, he had 
raised the church from its fallen state and filled it 
to overflowing by the unaided effort of his own 
genius, and now he looked for his reward. The 
time had come for the fulfilment of some of the 
aims, he had confided to Mr. Maitland, and he 
wanted the church restored. He only wished that 
it had been possible to erect a new place of worship 
to which men might point after he was away, 
saying, “Robert Martin built it.^’ But that idea 
was beyond the bounds of fulfilment. It was 
somewhat unfortunate that not one of the heritors 
resided near enough Hightown to make Wellogate 
Church their place of worship. There were four. 
The Earl of Arrol, who had not slept beneath the 

rooftree of Arrol Castle, his shire estate, since 

he attained his majority. He was a spendthrift 
and a ne’er-do-well, from whom it would be unwise 
to expect much. But his mother, the Dowager 
Countess, though resident in England, still retained 
a warm love for her husband’s native land, and 
being interested in every good work, might pos- 
sibly be induced to influence her son. Colonel 
Macdougall of Bonniwell was the next largest 


92 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


heritor, and though absent with his regiment in 
India, could be approached by Gavin Dunlop, 
who was the agent for his estate. Sir James 
Montgomery of Runes, though worshipping with 
the Episcopalians, was a heritor of Wellogate, and 
directly he heard of the proposed renovation of the 
old church intimated a subscription of a hundred 
pounds. The fourth heritor was Mr. Walter Gray 
’of Kingray, who had amassed a large fortune in 
trade. He was now an old man, almost a con- 
firmed invalid, and living a solitary, secluded life 
in the beautiful house he had bought when he 
retired from business. He was without ^kith or kin 
in the world, and was said to be very miserable in 
spite of his great possessions. Such, then, were 
the individuals upon whom Robert Martin depended 
for the wherewithal to renovate his church. He 
wrote himself to the Earl of Arrol, laying his plans 
before him, and asking his consent and aid in 
carrying them out. In the course of a week the 
answer came through a firm of London solicitors. 
It was very brief, simply stating that the Earl had 
no objections to the proposed alterations, and 
promising a donation of fifty pounds towards 
carrying them out. The minister was bitterly 
chagrined, but held his peace till he had communi- 
cated with the other two. Sir James Montgomery 
having already promised a hundred, Mr. Martin 
was in hopes that Colonel Macdougall and Mr. Gray 


PUSHING ON. 


93 


might make up the sum to five hundred, which, 
with any voluntary contributions the wealthier 
members of the congregation might be inclined to 
give, would raise a sufficient sum to carry out the 
work. Gavin Dunlop wrote at once to Colonel 
Macdougall; but though he was Mr. Gray's agent 
likewise, he would not be persuaded to approach 
the master of Kingray either personally or by 
letter. The old man had just returned from 
wintering at Mentone, and the lawyer suggested that 
Mr. Martin should wait upon him without delay. 
The minister, confident in his own powers of per- 
suasion, readily acquiesced, and walked out to 
Kingray one lovely evening early in April. It was 
three miles beyond the town, and the house was 
situated on a piece of rising ground on the south 
bank of the river which watered the policies, and 
which, abounding in trout and salmon, was strictly 
preserved. The beautiful grounds were closely 
shut up also, and the master of Kingray was known 
as one of the most conservative proprietors in the 
district. He was spoken of as a strange, eccentric, 
cross-gained old miser who would not willingly 
give pleasure to a living thing. The more charit- 
able regarded him with pity, for he had been tried 
by the bitterest of family sorrows. The place was 
exquisitely kept. As the minister of Wellogate 
slowly wended his way up the fine avenue, shaded 
by its spreading beech and elm, he looked in vain 
7 


94 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


for a dead leaf or a withered blade of grass on the 
soft, green sward, or for a weed on the smoothly 
rolled gravel. The avenue was a mile long, and 
when the minister reached the end and saw the old 
house before him, he stood still a moment to 
admire the picture in silence. It was indeed a 
beautiful house, in which one might be content to 
live and die. In times gone by it had been one of 
the most cherished and fondly-loved homes of the 
Arrols, but had been sold by the present Earl 
because he stood in urgent need of the thousands 
it could bring. The sale of Arrol Holme had 
been a great blow to his mother, who had never 
set foot in Scotland after it. Walter Gray had re- 
named the place, but not yet had the country folk 
grown accustomed to the change. To them, in all 
probability, it would remain the Holme to the end. 

Mr. Martin's ring at the bell sent the echoes 
sounding through the house, and brought a very 
astonished-looking maidservant hastily to the door. 
Evidently the appearance of a visitor was a very 
rare occurrence at Kingray. 

“ Is Mr. Gray at home, and could I see him ? ” 
asked the minister. 

“He is at home, sir, but” — she hesitated a 
moment, and looked doubtfully at the card the 
minister offered — “the master seldom sees any one 
now, sir. He has not been downstairs for nearly a 
month.” 


PUSHING ON, 


95 


“ I will wait, if you please, until you take my 
name to him,*' said the minister. "Tell him I have 
walked out to see him on important business." 

"Very well, sir, I *11 take your message,** said the 
girl, politely, "but you won't be disappointed if 
Mr. Gray won't see you.** 

She opened a door on the left side of the spacious 
hall, and, having ushered the minister into the 
room, carried his message upstairs. Left alone, 
Robert Martin looked curiously and with interest 
round him. He was in the library of the house, a 
fine old room with lofty walls and a magnificently 
carved oaken roof, worth a fortune in itself. The 
furniture was oak also, of modern workmanship, 
but chosen in harmony with its surroundings. 
The book shelves were filled with the gems of 
literature, and as Robert Martin walked round and 
read some of the titles he involuntarily breathed a 
covetous sigh. He was wondering whether this 
merchant prince were a connoisseur in literature 
and art, when the door opened and the maid again 
appeared. 

" My master will see you, sir," she said. " Will 
you please to step upstairs? You will excuse him 
being in his dressing-room ; he has not been out 
of it since he came home. We think he caught 
cold on the journey ; the east winds were so bitter 
last week." 

Somewhat amused at the girl's readiness to 


96 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


impart information regarding her master, for whom 
she had evidently a great regard, the minister made 
some suitable reply and followed her upstairs. 
The dressing-room where the master of Kingray 
was now obliged to spend so much of his time was 
a large and pleasant room, with two wide windows 
looking to the south. It was luxuriously furnished. 
Surely everything to add to the comfort and ease 
of an invalid was there ! He was sitting in his 
easy chair, a small, thin figure, wearing a rich 
dressing-gown, while a little velvet cap surmounted 
his scanty grey hair. His face was painfully worn, 
but his keen, black eye was sharp and penetrating 
in its glance, and when, at the opening of the door, 
he turned his head and looked the minister straight 
in the face, Robert Martin felt as if that look read 
him to the very soul. He advanced at once, 
extended his hand to the master of Kingray, and 
uttered a few words of greeting and sympathy 
which none knew how to express more gracefully 
than he. 

“ Pray, be seated, Mr. Martin — isn’t Martin the 
name ? ” said the old man. " So you are the new 
minister of Wellogate. I heard about your elec- 
tion when I was abroad. You are very young.” 

A fault which is daily mending, Mr. Gray,” said 
the minister, rather tamely. 

‘‘ I suppose so ; but if you have grace enough the 
youth won’t matter,” said the old man with a slight 


PUSHING ON. 


97 


smile. ‘‘ Well, as my servant said that your business 
was important, I conclude that this is not a mere 
pastoral visit, Mr. Martin.” 

“ I had a definite object in hurrying out so soon 
after your return home, Mr. Gray,” said Robert 
Martin. But if you are too weak to be troubled 
with it I can easily defer it till another time.” 

“Another time I shall probably be weaker, so 
you had better say your say. Is it a church 
matter? I suppose it will be money you want; 
ministers always do want it for something or 
other.” 

“ They certainly have to ask it pretty frequently, 
and the task is not a pleasant one, Mr. Gray,” said 
the minister a little stiffly. “ People forget that it 
is the need of the Church which necessitates the 
asking, not the personal need of the minister ; 
though he is too frequently made to feel as if he 
were begging on his own account.” 

“ I believe there ’s something in that,” said the 
old man musingly. “ I daresay I spoke without 
thinking. Well, what can I do for you ? ” 

“ I want to ask your advice and help about the 
church, Mr. Gray, seeing you are a heritor. I am 
setting a movement on foot to have it restored.” 

“Yes. I don’t disapprove of that. It needs 
repair. Have you consulted the other heritors?” 

“ Yes. The Earl has only promised fifty pounds ; 
Sir James Montgomery a hundred ; and we are 


98 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


waiting a communication from Colonel Mac- 
dougall.” 

“ Ah, poor Arrol ! His own needs are the crying 
ones at the present time. I question if even the 
fifty be forthcoming. Well, how much do you 
want ? 

“ Six or seven hundred.” 

"And suppose Macdougall and I give a hundred 
a-piece, where is the rest to come from ? ” 

“ I am in hopes that some of the wealthier mem- 
bers will do something.” 

" But surely seven hundred pounds is a great deal 
of money to spend in repairing an old place. You 
could almost build a new one for that money.” 

"Scarcely,” said Robert Martin, with a slight 
smile. " But we may as well do it handsomely.” 

"I suppose so. Well, gather as much as you 
can and get the repairs executed. 1*11 make up 
whatever deficiency you have. Don't thank me, if 
you please ; there is no need for it. I am not 
sacrificing anything, nor shall I be called upon to 
exercise any self-denial, so my gift is not so very 
valuable as it seems,” said the old man quietly. 
" Well, they tell me you are doing great things in 
Hightown. I presume you must find it a congenial 
sphere.” 

" I trust I do my duty in it, Mr. Gray,” said 
Robert Martin, with just a slight accent of con- 
scious pride. 


PUSHING ON 


99 


I hope so. But, then, we are not always the 
best judges of our own actions. Will you answer 
me a question, Mr. Martin ? I have put it to more 
than one young minister, and I have never got a 
very satisfactory answer,” said the master of 
Kingray, fixing his keen, quiet eyes full on the 
minister’s handsome face. Taking his silence for 
consent, he immediately continued : " What is 

your aim in your profession ? Is it to save as many 
souls as, by the grace of God, you can, or is it for 
your own aggrandisement and welfare? Whether 
is your Master’s glory or your own your first and 
dearest interest?” 

“ I trust I never place myself before my Master, 
sir,” said Robert Martin with dignity. “ I believe 
I am sincere in saying that my first aim is to 
preach the Gospel so that many souls may be 
turned to righteousness.” 

“ Thank you. I beg your pardon for my ques- 
tion. It may seem rude to you ; but I am an old 
man, and since I have been cut off from the world 
I have pondered these things in my heart. I am 
growing exhausted with talking, so you will excuse 
me if I ask you to withdraw. My servant will 
give you some refreshment downstairs, for you will 
need it after your long walk.” 

No, thank you. I enjoyed the walk and need 
nothing,” said Robert Martin, rising. I must 
again thank you for your generous kindness.” 


100 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


“Pray don’t,” said the old man, with a depre- 
cating wave of the hand. “ Well, good-bye. Let 
me say one thing. You are a young man and 
I am an old man, so perhaps you won’t take it ill. 
See to it that God’s help and blessing go with you 
in whatever you do, or your work will be barren 
and unfruitful. Unless you are truly His servant 
yourself you can never teach others to serve Him. 
That is the rock upon which many besides 
ministers split I daresay I have no right to offer 
you such advice. Looking back upon my own 
barren and misspent life, which might have been 
rich in fruit had I served the Lord, I feel impelled 
to warn you, lest your old age be as desolate and 
unblessed as mine. Good-bye.” 

Unable to frame an answer to that strange 
speech, and feeling himself finally dismissed, the 
minister quitted the room and the house. He had 
obtained the fulfilment of his desire and more, but 
he neither felt elated nor satisfied. And the still 
small voice, whispering sadly of his shortcomings 
and unworthiness, was his close companion all the 
way home. 




CHAPTER X. 

OVERCOMING DIFFICULTIES. 

T rade had been dull all winter in Hightown, 
and several of the manufacturers, Mr. Mait- 
land among them, had reduced the wages of 
their operatives. As the year wore on business 
did not improve, and there were many idle people 
in the town. Such being the state of affairs, 
money did not flow in towards the church repairs. 
Mr. Maitland and Mr. Douglas promised fifty 
guineas each, and Gavin Dunlop and the doctor 
twenty pounds ; and there the subscriptions 
stopped. Mr. Buchanan had never passed an 
opinion, good or bad, concerning the restoration 
of the church. When it was discussed in his 
presence at meetings of the session he held his 
peace. Therefore, when the minister applied to 
him to lend a helping hand, he was not unprepared 
for the answer he received. 

“ In these times I have so much to do with my 

101 


102 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


money, Mr. Martin, that I cannot promise you 
anything,” he said quietly but decidedly. 

‘‘ But you will admit that it is a worthy object?” 
said Mr. Martin, determined to make him pass 
some opinion on the subject 

“ I do not deny it Only I may be permitted to 
think there are many worthier at present. You 
have no idea of the destitution in the town conse- 
quent upon this terrible depression in trade. But 
perhaps you do not see so much of it as I do,” said 
David Buchanan significantly. 

The minister's face flushed at the implied re- 
proach, and his quick temper leaped up in a moment. 

“ What do you mean to insinuate, sir ? ” he asked 
hotly. 

‘‘ I insinuate nothing,” responded Mr. Buchanan, 
with a somewhat sad smile. “ I simply say that, 
being so much occupied with other things besides 
your parish work, you cannot possibly be aware of 
the poverty existing at present. I could not con- 
scientiously give of my substance to rebuild the 
church when there is such crying need without its 
pale.” 

“ The church in its present state is a disgrace to 
any parish,” said Robert Martin, still hotly, for he 
was much annoyed. “ We do not grudge money 
to beautify and embellish our own homes ; surely 
it should not only be a privilege but a joy to us to 
adorn the sanctuary ? ” 


OVERCOMING DIFFICULTIES. 


103 


I will have mercy and not sacrifice,” said David 
Buchanan, more to himself than to his listener. 
Then, after a moment, he added inquiringly, ‘‘ I was 
told that Mr. Gray of Kingray had volunteered to 
cover any deficiency, but possibly it might only be 
a gossiping rumour.” 

It is quite true, but we must not take undue 
advantage of his generosity. It will be to our own 
credit to receive as little as possible from him.” 

‘‘ I do not quite see it in that light. Mr. Gray 
has a large fortune, and he gives very little away. 
Why should he not spend it freely for the church, 
seeing he is no believer in charitable relief? ” 

‘‘ I see we can never agree on this question, so 
I had better go,” said the minister stiffly. May 
I ask as a favour that you will not. seek to influence 
others to follow your example ? ” 

David Buchanan turned his keen, mild eye for 
an instant full upon the minister’s face, but made 
no other answer. He did not need ; that look was 
eloquent enough. 

‘‘ How is Mrs. Martin ? ” he asked courteously. 
“My sister was remarking that she thought her 
looking pale and worn. She has worked very hard 
all winter, and needs a rest. She will welcome her 
holidays, I fancy.” 

“ I am afraid there will not be many holidays for 
either of us so long as there is so much requiring 
our attention at home,” said the minister, recover- 


104 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


ing his equanimity, and feeling rather ashamed of 
his hastiness of speech. “ We have the promise of 
a very hot summer. Perhaps, if we have a plen- 
tiful harvest, trade may improve/* 

‘‘We will hope so. Well, good-bye,” replied David 
Buchanan, and the minister went his way. When 
he was left alone the mill-owner leaned his head on 
his arms, and his face assumed an expression of 
deep, almost sorrowful gravity. The doubts which 
had led him to oppose the election of Robert 
Martin to Wellogate were being surely fulfilled, 
and he saw the church he loved becoming, not a 
tabernacle for the pure and humble worship of the 
Lord, but a centre for man*s ambition and empty 
forms, such as please the eye but cannot touch the 
heart. Leaning his head upon his ledger, David 
Buchanan prayed earnestly for the church and for 
its minister, that his heart might be awakened to 
the reality and divine nature of his calling, and 
that even yet he might be numbered among those 
who shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, 
because they have turned many to righteousness. 

It was agreed that while the alterations were 
being carried on the congregation should worship 
in the Town Hall. The contractors promised to have 
their work completed in four or five months, and, 
allowing a margin for the usual delays, Mr. Martin 
hoped to hold inaugural services in the restored 
church either on the Christmas or New Year’s 


OVERCOMING DIFFICULTIES. 


105 


Sabbath-day. He hoped to secure the services of 
one of the leaders of the Church, whose name was 
eminent in literature as well, and who would do 
honour to the occasion. So in these bright visions 
and glowing hopes of future success the summer 
wore away. In August the minister and his wife 
took a month’s holidays. He was anxious to go 
abroad, but Ada pleaded so hard to be allowed to 
go home to her father’s coast residence on the 
Gareloch, where she had been wont to spend the 
happy summers of her girlhood, that he was obliged 
to forego his planned trip. She needed rest. It 
seemed to those in the parish who loved the minis- 
ter’s young wife, and these were many, that she 
had aged in the nine months she had lived in the 
manse of Wellogate, She had come among them 
a bright-faced girl, whom many had pronounced 
far too young and inexperienced for her position. 
They could not say so now. The sweet face had 
lost its ruddy colour ; the eye, though clear and 
gentle as of yore, was less bright ; and her expres- 
sion was one of almost habitual gravity, as if she 
found life to be a thing of terrible earnest. Yet 
what sorrow or care could come near her ? She 
was cherished by the deep tenderness of a husband 
devoted to her, encompassed by the love and 
prayers of his people, and strengthened by the affec- 
tion of many true friends. She was of a sensitive, 
earnest nature, upon which the mysteries and realities 


io6 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


of life weighed very heavily. She pondered things in 
her heart ; they took a hold upon her so deep that 
she could not shake it off. She was keenly alive 
to the smallest duty and responsibility, and fearful 
lest she should fall short. She was not less 
anxious where her husband’s work was concerned. 
Soon after her marriage the vague doubts which 
troubled her concerning him became settled con- 
victions. The fear lest, while he was trying to lead 
others to the water of life, he had not yet tasted its 
saving spring himself, became a certainty which 
was an agony to her. She saw him proud of the 
dignity and success of his ministry, bound up in 
self and selfish aims, which sapped the springs of 
his unselfish interest in others. She listened to his 
fine discourses, she followed every word of his 
beautiful and appropriate prayers, with her own 
deep-breathed and silent petitions that the reality 
of his work might be made plain to him. In her 
intercourse with the people she did not marvel at 
the absence of a true and earnest spirit of piety 
breathing its sweet odours over heart and home. 
Without a spiritually-minded minister, how can 
there be a spiritually-minded people? 

These things Ada Martin brooded in her heart, 
breathing them in no human ear ; but surely, if 
earnest, unceasing prayers can avail, hers must be 
answered some day in peace. Mr. and Mrs. 
Llatheson were quick to note the change in 


OVERCOMING DIFFICULTIES. 


107 


their darling, but did not divine its cause. They 
concluded that she had been working too hard, and 
so petted and cherished and made much of her in 
their loving way, devising constant schemes for her 
pleasure and benefit. Riding, boating, driving — 
all the healthful exercise in which she had been 
expert before her marriage, were open to her again, 
and she took advantage of them to the full. She 
had come to rest and recruit, and she did it 
sensibly, being desirous of returning strong and 
well to her work. 

Mr. Martin came and went to Gareloch. He 
went to Leipzig for ten days to visit a college com- 
panion, minister of the Scotch Church there, and 
then he ran backwards and forwards to Hightown 
to see what progress the workmen were making 
there ; and so the brief holiday slipped away 
almost unawares, and the second week of Sep- 
tember saw them domiciled in the manse again. 
Mr. Martin was very energetic. He personally 
superintended the work going on in the church, 
and by dint of urging and persuasion kept the 
contractors up to time. Gradually order began to 
rise out of chaos, beauty out of debris^ and the 
restored church promised to be one of the finest 
interiors in Hightown. A space was left in the 
gallery for the organ, which was the minister’s 
next ambition. Failing subscriptions in money, he 
had vague ideas of inducing the ladies to get up a 


io8 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


bazaar, the only objection to it being that it would 
entail so much work on his own wife. But then 
she was so willing, she never grudged work nor 
spared herself, especially in his interests, and she 
would be cure of substantial help from her mother 
and from the wealthy ladies of St. Mungo's, whose 
dainty fingers and spare hours in the drawing- 
room were chiefly devoted to making pretty trifles 
for bazaars and fancy fairs. 

As the year wore on the work of restoration 
approached completion. The beauty of the inte- 
rior was further enhanced by a handsome stained 
window, presented by Mr. Maitland in memory 
of his father, who had been connected with the 
Wellogate Church for fifty years previous to his 
death. Mr. Martin could not help the thought 
occurring to him that it might be a graceful act in 
David Buchanan to erect a similar tribute to kis 
father, and present a companion window. But 
such a thought was very far indeed from the mind 
of the owner of Scotland Mills ; for he had more 
claims upon his purse than he well knew how to 
meet. By the third week in December the work 
was completed, and the church ready for occupa- 
tion. So on Christmas Sabbath-day the inaugural 
services were held, and great crowds assembled in 
the morning to hear the celebrated Dr. Bellenden 
preach. They were disappointed in him, and many 
said he could not be compared to their own 


OVERCOMING DIFFICULTIES. 


109 


minister. Truly, Dr. Bellenden’s discourse was 
not adorned by any flowers of rhetoric, nor set off* 
by much eloquent declamation. But it was an 
exposition of the Gospel pure and simple, spoken 
in humility and earnestness, as a dying man would 
speak to dying men. There were souls saved in 
the Wellogate Church that day — bright jewels set 
in the faithful servant’s crown. Although he had 
climbed fame’s proud pinnacle, and though all men 
spoke well of him, he was as humble as a little 
child, and clung to his first faith with all the love 
and reverence of his great soul. And because his 
prayer was “for Christ’s sake,” many souls were 
given him for his hire. 

8 




CHAPTER XL 

A BURDENED HEART. 

T he depression in trade continued and increased 
throughout the winter. “ Bad times ” was the 
universal cry, and money had not been so 
scarce in Hightown for many years. Some of the 
public works were almost at a standstill, and the 
operatives still retained were only on half-time, 
and lived in daily dread of receiving their dismissal. 
To add to the general depression, the weather was 
exceptionally severe. There was a heavy snow- 
storm in Christmas week, and from then until 
spring was well advanced, frost and snow, rain and 
east winds, succeeded each other alternately, until 
people began to lose hope and to fear that the 
seed time was to fail at last. Even thrifty folk, 
with something laid by for a rainy day, began to 
feel the pinch of hard times. As for the spend- 
thrift and the very poor, their condition was indeed 

pitiable. David Buchanan and others who went 
no 


A BURDENED HEART. 


Ill 


on errands of mercy among them were sometimes 
heart-sick and appalled, feeling how utterly unable 
they were to cope with the prevailing distress. 
Relief committees were organised, soup kitchens 
and free breakfasts instituted ; but such measures 
were almost like a drop in the ocean, the effect of 
which was scarcely visible. In April, however, 
spring came in with balmy breath and healing 
wing ; the snow was swept from upland and low- 
land, the ice-bound brooks and ponds were released, 
blade and bud and leaf began to peep out ; it was 
like the advent of a new lease of life. Slowly, very 
slowly, things began to mend. Trade revived a 
little, and some of the unemployed were reinstalled 
at a reduction of wages, which they were only too 
thankful to accept. The fine weather lasted ; there 
never had been such a grand seed-time, farmers 
said, and the lost time was rapidly made up. So 
the drooping spirits of the people revived, and there 
was something like the old life and activity in the 
busy town once more. Both the minister and his 
wife had worked hard all winter. Mr. Martin had 
had his Bible class and his evening sermon every 
Sabbath day, and as he never went to the pulpit 
or the class-room unprepared, much of the week 
was necessarily taken up with study. His visits 
were confined to the sick or the afflicted, 'with an 
occasional evening spent at Maitland Park or in 
Gavin Dunlop’s lodgings, to relieve the monotony 


112 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


of work. Mrs. Martin laboured indefatigably as a 
member of relief committees, personally super- 
intended the soup kitchen, and held her mothers’ 
meetings and her kitchen prayer meetings regularly 
throughout the winter. These prayer meetings 
were the outcome of a new experiment, which the 
young wife had not yet had the courage to speak 
of to her husband. Yet they had been of much 
comfort to herself and to the hard-worked, broken- 
spirited wives and mothers, toiling almost hope- 
lessly among their babies, and who never got to 
church. Strange as it may seem, the minister and 
his wife did not see very much of each other. He 
required undisturbed solitude for his studies ; for, 
if the thread of thought were snapped, it was an 
infinite trouble to join it again, and proceed with the 
same ease and fluency. Ada, knowing that, was care- 
ful not to intrude, and she watched that no other 
should. The young wife’s dream of a perfect 
union, of husband and wife walking as one along 
the path of life, one in heart and purpose, one in aim 
and work, was dispelled long ago. She lived her 
life apart ; she had her work, her husband had his, 
and neither interfered with the other. Yet they 
loved each other dearly as of yore, though one 
element which had made that love so passing 
sweet was gone away out of Ada Martin’s heart. 
The minister was fond and proud of his wife, but 
he did not feel her to be absolutely necessary to 


A BURDENED HEART. 


”3 


his existence. He had a vague feeling at times 
that her clear eyes read too clearly his weaknesses 
and imperfections, and he knew that of many of 
his actions she did not altogether approve. 
Though she did not say so in words, his perception 
told him so, and thus by slow degrees he learned 
to keep many little things from her. Does that 
seem to you inconsistent, impossible indeed, in a 
husband who loves his wife? Ah, human nature 
has many sides ! The longer I study it, the more 
I see of its contradictions, its weakness, and its 
mystery. I grant that Robert Martin’s was not 
the highest type of love ; he was too selfish a man 
as yet to enter that inner and most blessed recess 
— his nature required to be purified. Those who 
have suffered most love most I think, if their 
suffering be sanctified, not otherwise. The question 
of the organ was, of course, in abeyance. Robert 
Martin was too wise a man to bring censure on 
himself by moving in the matter so long as times 
were so bad. 

But when things took a turn for the better he 
began to bestir himself in the matter. He met 
with opposition on all sides. Even Mr. Maitland 
cautioned delay. “ People had no money,” he said, 
‘‘ to spend on organs ; it was as much as they 
could do to make ends meet.” The minister had 
never broached the organ question to Mr. Buchanan. 
There had been a coolness between them since the 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


1 14 


mill-owner had declined to subscribe to the restor- 
ation fund. Robert Martin chose to consider 
himself treated unjustly by David Buchanan, and 
remarked to more than one of the members that he 
hindered but did not help him in his work. There 
were some kind souls who deemed it their duty 
to repeat these foolish words to David Buchanan, 
from whom, however, they received scant courtesy. 
In his manner towards the minister there was no 
change. He was the same kind, calm, courteous 
gentleman, too high-souled to allow himself to be 
influenced by such trifles. For him life held many 
grave interests, which set the lesser ones aside. 

It was surprising that a very hot summer 
succeeded the long bitter winter. Work was a 
burden, it was a labour even to breathe in the 
sultry air ; and the eyes grew weary of seeing 
the lurid sky, which seemed always to promise the 
thunder which never came. There had been 
distress through cold in the town during winter ; 
now there was a different kind to contend with 
in the shape of disease bred by the heat in the 
squalid places where the poor folk lived. There 
were a considerable number of fever cases in the 
Wellogate, and unless the heat abated these were 
likely to increase. 

Hearing of it, the minister forbade his wife to 
continue her visitations among the poor, lest any 
harm might befall her. She promised to obey, and 



AMONG HER POOR 


Face p. 1 14 






( 


A BURDENED HEART. 


I15 


for some days did not go without the garden gate. 
She felt languid and weary, as if the springs of her 
being were utterly exhausted. She was glad to sit 
in the pleasant shade of the limes, and idly watch 
the butterflies and the busy bees, the only living 
things which did not seem to feel the heat a burden. 
Her husband was anxious and solicitous about her, 
but she would not permit him to call the doctor, 
saying that it was only the heat which tired her, and 
that she would be better soon. She was leaning 
back in her low garden-chair one afternoon, with 
her pale hands loosely clasped on her lap and her 
eyes wandering listlessly, now to the burning sky 
and again to the parched and drooping flowers 
languishing for rain. She wore white, one of her 
last summer’s gowns, which had fitted then like a 
glove, but which now hung loosely about her 
figure. But it was upon her face that there was the 
greatest change. It looked wearied and worn, like 
the face of one who had done fierce battle with 
sorrow and care. Her thoughts seemed to be sad, 
or it might be weakness and weariness which caused 
her eyes to fill with heavy tears, which chased each 
other slowly down her cheeks, and fell unheeded 
on the flower she had plucked but an hour ago, 
and which was withered now. ^ Hearing her 
husband step on the gravel, she hastily brushed the 
drops away ; but he saw them, and in a moment 
was kneeling by her side, with his arm thrown 


ii6 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON, 


tenderly about her. They were safe from observa- 
tion, hidden by the branching drooping limes. 

“ My darling, what is it ? What is vexing you ? ” 
he asked anxiously. 

“ Nothing, dear. I feel weak and weary, that is 
all,” she answered hurriedly. “ I cannot bear this 
heat ; it takes all the strength out of me.’* 

“ Tiici c is something else, Ada. Tell me, do you 
feel ill ? ” 

“Yes, I think I am going to be ill, Robert. 
I have felt like it for days ; but I tried to keep up, 
thinking it would pass away.” 

“That was very wrong, my darling. It was not 
kindness to yourself or to me.” 

“ No? I thought it was,” she said, with a faint 
smile. “You have no idea how queer my head feels 
to-day. It is all confused. I do not seem to be 
able to retain a thought for more than a moment. 
I think I shall go in and lie down.” 

“You will go to bed at once,” he said peremp- 
torily, “and I’ll send for Carnegie. You ought 
to have seen him long ago.” 

“ I believe I should. Did you see papa in the 
garden a little ago? I thought he was standing 
over there, and that I could not go to him. I 
think that was what made me cry.” 

Robert Martin drew back a little, and looked at 
his wife with shocked and startled eyes. 

“ My darling, you forget ; your father and 


A BURDENED HEART. 


117 


mother are in Switzerland, and could not possibly 
be here,” he said with great gentleness. Then he 
lifted her in his strong arms and carried her into 
the house. 

A message sent in hot haste brought Dr. 
Carnegie to the manse within the hour. He did 
not appear surprised at the summons. 

“ I half expected to be sent for. I have thought 
Mrs. Martin looking very unwell for some time, 
especially on Sunday,” he said frankly to the 
minister. 

“ Why didn't you speak or come ? ” asked Robert 
Martin hotly. “You might have had th^ kindness 
and common-sense to do so much for me.” 

“ Unfortunately, my hands are so full at present 
that I have not time to hunt up cases for myself. 
I have too many on my list as it is,” responded the 
physician briefly. “ I will see Mrs. Martin at once, 
if you please.” 

His examination was not prolonged, and when 
he came downstairs his face was very grave. 

“Well?” queried Mr. Martin in agony. 

“ Have you a capable woman in the house who 
could act as a nurse for some weeks ? ” asked the 
doctor. 

“ Is my wife likely to be seriously ill for some 
time ? Why don't you tell me at once what is the 
matter ? ” 

“ She has all the symptoms of typhoid fever, but 


ii8 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSOR 


I will not say definitely that it is until I see her 
to-morrow. She goes about a great deal among 
the poor, I understand. Has she been doing so 
lately?” 

‘‘Not within the last week. I forbade it when- 
ever I heard that there were fever cases in the 
town.” 

“ A week ! The disease takes that time 
frequently to develop itself. Your wife's system 
is much reduced, Mr. Martin. I think it my duty 
to tell you that if my fears concerning her are well 
grounded, she will have a hard struggle for life.” 




CHAPTER XII. 

COALS OF FIRE. 

T he patient was more or less delirious all night. 
Robert Martin watched alone by that sick- 
bed ; what he endured can be understood 
only by those who have kept a like vigil. She 
talked of many things and many people, but her 
father’s name was oftenest on her lips ; and then a 
pathetic and tender smile would creep about the 
mouth, telling how dear were the associations that 
name recalled. She slept a little towards daybreak, 
and when the first grey streaks of dawn were creep- 
ing into the room she awoke again, and for the time 
the delirium was gone. “Are you there, Robert? Am 
I ill ? Why are you sitting there ? Have I been ill 
in bed a long time ? ” she asked in a feeble whisper. 

“Only since yesterday, my darling,” answered 
her husband, with difficulty restraining his emotion. 
“ Do you feel better now ? ” 

She wearily shook her head. 

119 


120 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


"Oh, no, I am not well. Has the doctor been 
here? Does he think I shall not get better? 
Does he know what is the matter with me ? 

" He could not tell until he saw you again to- 
day. He will be here early.'* 

" Yes. Do you think I shall get better, Robert ? ** 

" My dearest, what a question ! Have pity on 
me, Ada ; the very thought is agony to me.” 

"Well, you would miss me, but I think some- 
times I should not mind. Life does seem so hard 
at times, and there is so much to do. We cannot 
wait till the work is all done, you know. Only God 
knows when that will be.” 

Robert Martin bowed his head on his hands, and 
groaned in anguish. Had he not thoughtlessly 
added to her burden often, until it had grown so 
heavy that she would gladly lay it down. 

" Robert,” she said presently in an almost inaud- 
'ible whisper, for her strength was spent, " in case 
I should not be able to speak again, I want to ask 
you to be more devoted to your work than you 
have ever been. My dearest, what is the use of a 
fine church, with an organ, and all these things, 
unless souls are being saved in it every day? 
I have often wanted to say this to you, but 
my strength always failed me. You will not 
mind now when I am so ill, perhaps going 
away.” 

A deep groan was her only answer, wrung from 


COALS OF FIRE, 


I2I 


the depths of a man’s heart awakened to keenest 
remorse and pain. 

‘‘ Pray, pray every day, Robert, for strength and 
help. Go more among the poor and the outcast. 
Oh, they need all we can give or do for them ! ” she 
said, with tears welling in her eyes. “ Show them 
the way of life ; tell them the story of Jesus’ love. 
Let them taste the blessing which is for them, only 
they don’t know where to find it. Do all ” 

The feeble voice died away, and she lay still a 
moment. Then the brief interval of consciousness 
passed away, and she wandered on again, now about 
some poor sick woman in Patience Lane, now about 
the green fields and the silver strand of the Gareloch. 

Unable to bear it longer, Robert Martin left the 
room, and rousing the maids, despatched one at 
once for the doctor. He was at the manse before 
seven o’clock. The condition of the patient did 
not surprise him, and he at once pronounced it a 
bad case of typhoid fever. 

‘‘ There is nothing to be done but to let it run its 
course, Mr. Martin,” he said. “You had better 
have an experienced nurse at once. Shall I call at 
the Infirmary on my way home, and see whether 
they can spare one ? ” 

“ I will nurse her myself. Dr. Carnegie. I could 
not bear strange hands about her,” was the minis- 
ter’s reply. 

The physician shook his head. 


122 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


“Absolutely impossible, sir. You are not equal 
to a month’s continuous nursing, even though you 
had nothing else to do. Besides, in a case like 
Mrs. Martin’s, the nursing is the most important 
thing. What sort of women are your servants? 
Will they be of any use, think you ? ” 

“ I don’t think so. They have only been in the 
house since May, and my wife was very much dis- 
satisfied with them.” 

“ Ah, that ’s a pity, but I ’ll see about a nurse in 
the meantime. Good morning, Mr. Martin. I am 
in hopes that Mrs. Martin may weather this storm. 
She has youth and a good constitution on her 
side,” he said, striving to cheer the minister a little, 
for he saw that he was much depressed. 

When he was left alone, Robert Martin paced 
slowly up and down the study, marvelling at his 
own calmness. The doctor, a man eminently 
skilled in his profession, frankly told him his wife 
had only a chance of life. Only a chance ! The 
probability was that the fragile frame would suc- 
cumb in the fever’s deadly grasp, and then — . He 
shuddered, and covering his face with his hands, 
walked with unsteady steps back to the sick-room. 
It was agony to him to be there, to listen to the 
ravings of the poor wandering brain, and yet he 
could not stay away. 

A strange, desolate, disordered house was the 
Wellogate manse that summer morning, a house in 


COALS OF FIRE. 


123 


which the gentle, guiding spirit of its mistress was 
sorely missed. The maids, two senseless, careless, 
shallow-hearted girls, terrified for their own safety, 
now that they knew the nature of the disease, stood 
talking in the kitchen, wondering whether they 
would not be justified in quitting the house. By 
ten o’clock the Infirmary nurse — a trained and 
capable middle-aged woman, of swift, active, reso- 
lute movement, and of few but decisive words — 
arrived at the manse, and in less than half-an-hour 
her influence was felt in the house. She peremp- 
torily ordered the girls to their work, made them 
prepare their master’s breakfast, and then went 
upstairs and entered the sick-room. Her step was 
light and noiseless, her every movement swift but 
quiet, so that the solitary watcher was scarcely 
conscious of her presence until she spoke. 

‘‘ I am the nurse, Mr. Martin,” she said, in a 
voice which long practice had made very gentle. 
“ If you please, I will relieve you now. I think 
your breakfast is waiting downstairs.” 

The minister rose to his feet and looked her 
all over. She was not a good-looking or even 
pleasant-featured person, but her eyes were kind, 
and she looked like one to be relied on. At sight 
of her a vague feeling of relief stole into his heart. 

‘‘I am glad to see you,” he said courteously. 
“You see there is great need for your services 

here,” glancing towards the bed. The nurse 

9 


124 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


nodded ; and looked about the room with a pro- 
fessional eye. The atmosphere was hot and stifling, 
and laden with the strong odour of vinegar with 
which the patient's head had been bathed. 

“We want some air here, sir,” she said, and 
stepping into the adjoining dressing-room she drew 
down the window ; then setting wide open the 
bedroom .door, which opened on to the landing^ 
caused a delicious current of pure air to play 
through the room. Satisfied then that she knew 
her business thoroughly, Robert Martin was con- 
tent to leave the patient for a little in her care. 
He found his breakfast ready, but he did it poor 
justice. Then he wandered out into the open air, 
looked vaguely round the sunlit garden, went back 
again and up to the sick-room. The nurse met 
him on the threshold. 

“Excuse me, sir, but I assure you it will be 
better for my patient if there is only one person in 
the room at a time ; and if I might be allowed a 
suggestion,” she added respectfully, “ I would advise 
you to go and lie down for a few hours, so that you 
may be fresh to relieve me by-and-by. Neither 
of these girls is to be trusted here.” 

“ No, I thought not. Well, I think I will act upon 
your suggestion,” he said, seeing the wisdom of it at 
once. Then with one yearning look at the flushed 
face on the pillow he went away downstairs, but sleep 
was out of the question. Remembering then that 


COALS OF FIRE. 


125 


it was Friday, and that his Sabbath work was only 
half prepared, he sat down to his desk only to find 
study equally out of the question. He could not 
concentrate his thoughts for a moment, they were 
a confused chaos circling round an awful and ever- 
present fear. Gradually the day wore on. Dr. 
Carnegie came again in the evening, and as the 
patient was visibly worse, the fever having con- 
siderably increased, he advised that the waving 
masses of golden brown hair should be cut off to 
cool the poor hot head. Robert Martin assented, 
and with his own hands took away the shining 
tresses with which he had so often played, she 
rambling and talking all the while quite uncon- 
scious of what was being done. How was he to 
live through the weary days which must elapse ere 
the fever ran its course, how bear the protracted 
agony of suspense when every moment already was 
like an hour of pain ? 

A message sent to Glasgow that night brought a 
promise of pulpit supply for the Sabbath day. 
Then Robert Martin tried to compose himself to 
write a letter to Gilbert Matheson. He dared not 
telegraph, for Mrs. Matheson was in delicate health 
and the shock might prove very injurious ; and, 
after all, what good could either do though they 
were even now at the manse ? Slowly the weary 
days dragged themselves away. Many came to 
ask for the beloved wife ; her husband was 


126 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


inexpressibly touched by the affectionate interest 
evinced by all classes. Now it would be an anxious 
member of the church, now an old man scarcely 
able to totter up to the gate, and again a little 
ragged child to whom her smile had been like a 
glimpse of heaven — all moved by a common love 
and sorrow. 

One evening about a week after Mrs. Martin’s 
seizure, the minister was out on some necessary 
parish work, and coming down the High Street 
met Mrs. Maitland. As was natural, he stopped to 
speak, and was astonished that in place of the 
usual warm hand-shake she only favoured him with 
a little bow, and drew herself away from him as far 
as possible. 

“ How is dear Mrs. Martin?” she asked nervously. 

We are all so sorry for you, though of course it is 
impossible for us to come to the manse, but we are 
all so anxious and distressed. I had absolutely to 
threaten to lock Florence in her room, she was so 
bent upon going. I explained to her that it was 
mistaken kindness. It is such a dreadful fever, and 
so infectious. But surely she will recover. We 
cannot afford to lose our minister’s wife, Mr. 
Martin.” 

“ We can but hope for the best, Mrs. Maitland,’* 
said the minister briefly ; and without another word 
passed on. 

He was cut to the heart. It was a very little 


COALS OF FIRE. 


127 


thing, and the woman was perhaps perfectly justi- 
fied in her action, but to him in his desolation and 
misery it seemed terribly needless and cruel. He 
was thirsting for sympathy, and had expected to 
receive it from one who had ever professed such 
violent affection for his wife and himself. The 
minister of Wellogate returned home in a very 
bitter frame of mind. When he entered the house 
the nurse came running downstairs looking much 
annoyed. 

“The servants have both left the house, sir. 
Called a cab whenever you went out, and took 
their boxes with them. I Ve been expecting it, 
poor silly things ; they Ve frightened out of their 
wits, and they have not a particle of feeling or good 
sense in them. We are better without them. 
Still, what are we to do?” 

The minister made no answer. He turned upon 
his heel, entered the study, and shut the door. He 
sat down there, and looking blankly before him 
gave way to the sense of despair which stole over 
him. He felt himself deserted of God and man. 
Robert Martin was not fitted by nature or experi- 
ence to face adversity ; when it came it was like to 
overwhelm him. Sitting there in the dim silence 
he tried to think of God, to uplift his thoughts and 
desires to Him. He tried to pray ; but in that 
hour of bitterest need he was made to feel that to 
him God was not that near Friend whose hand he 


128 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


could touch in the gloom and be comforted. His 
agony brought him face to face with the husks of 
his own faith, and he knew that all along he had 
deceived himself, and that the truth was not in 
him. In a moment of time a flash of light seemed 
to shine in and make the mistaken, sinful past 
awfully plain. He had ministered to others even 
while he himself sorely needed healing. He had 
offered freely a gift which he had not accepted 
himself, of which he had never felt the need. He 
had taken the solemn vows of consecration upon 
him with a heart untouched by the love which 
alone could sanctify his work. One by one his 
broken vows, neglected opportunities, misspent 
time, selfish aims and selfish strivings, rose up to 
accuse him. He was still battling with conscience 
when darkness fell. 

At last he prayed. I will not transcribe that 
prayer. It was for the ear of God alone. 

When he rose from his knees the light of moon 
and stars, streaming through the open window, lay 
all about him, like rays of hope from heaven. He 
was conscious then of a stir of voices in the hall, 
and was wondering who could be in the house 
when the study door opened and some one came 
in. Then a voice, deep and manly, tremulous a 
little with agitation, fell upon his ears. 

“ How are you ? My sister and I only heard 
yesterday of Mrs. Martin’s illness, and we left 


COALS OF FIRE. 


129 


Strathpeffer at once to see if we could be of any 
use. We were so shocked to hear that you have 
none but strangers in the house that we made bold 
to come and offer our services. Believe me, Rachel 
is a famous nurse. She has gone straight up to 
Mrs. Martin.” 

Robert Martin looked strangely and incredul- 
ously into David Buchanan’s true, honest, and 
earnest face, which seemed to be shining upon him 
in sympathy and love, then he sank into a chair 
and burst into tears. 




CHAPTER XIIL 


CLEARING UP. 


^^AVID BUCHANAN moved over to the 
window, and stood there in silence until the 
minister regained his composure. By-and- 
by he crossed the room, and laying his hand on 
the shoulder of the bowed figure said with a gentle- 
ness marvellous to see, 

‘‘ I know just how you feel. I have heard how you 
have been left in your extremity, and yet I could not 
be greatly distressed, knowing God would not fail 
you and your precious wife in your hour of need.” 

Robert Martin rose to his feet, and stretched out 
his hand almost humbly. 

“ Will you forgive me ? I have misjudged and 
wronged you. I am not worthy such generous 
kindness. Had you too held aloof it had been no 
more than I deserved or could expect,” he said, 
and there was no mistaking the earnestness with 
which he spoke. 

130 


CLEARING UP. 


131 

David Buchanan took the offered hand in his 
fervent grasp, and said, a little huskily, 

“ Say no more ; say no more. We will under- 
stand each other by-and-by. I was to blame 
too. But now, tell me exactly how Mrs. Martin 
is ; one hears so many conflicting reports out- 
side.” 

“ She is very low. Her strength is so much 
reduced to-day that she cannot combat the fever. 
She has lain in a semi-unconscious state for hours. 
Pray for me, Mr. Buchanan, that this cup may pass 
from me. I cannot give her up.” 

“ God may not require it of you. She is very 
young. That is a great advantage ; but it is well 
to be prepared, and, after all, the separation at the 
longest can only be for a little while. I can 
sympathise with you to the full, because she who 
was to have been my wife was taken from me 
before I had ever called her by that name,” 
returned David Buchanan, his voice tremulous a 
little with the emotion caused by that unforgotten 
sorrow. 

“Yes? I did not know — did not dream — that 
you had had any such experience,” said the minister 
involuntarily. 

“No. It does not do to proclaim one’s sorrows 
on the housetops, and every life has its cress hidden 
or revealed. I just wish to tell you that the time 
came — though years after — w^hen I could say truly, 


132 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


‘ It is well.* Heaven is better than earth, and it 
was /ler gain.** 

" You were not resigned at first, then ? ** 

A curious expression crossed the face of David 
Buchanan, and he shook his head. 

“ It was many a weary month before the words 
resignation or comfort were anything but a sound 
to me ; nay, they were a mockery of my anguish ; 
but that passed away. He will lift us from the 
deeps, take our feet from the miry clay and set them 
on a rock, if we will leave ourselves with Him ; but 
that is just the hardest part of it all — we are so 
very human in our insatiable desire to have the 
why and the wherefore of everything; but He is 
very tender with us.** • 

Robert Martin looked with wonder and awe 
upon the face of the man before him. How he 
had misjudged and misunderstood him, and what a 
great heart there was under the blunt exterior ! 

“You make me ashamed,** he said bluntly ; “you 
are so much nearer the kingdom than 1.** 

“Nay, do not say so. You know nothing of my 
temptations and my falls. I have often to remind 
myself of the words, ‘Let him who thinketh he 
standeth take heed lest he fall.* *’ 

There was a little silence between them then, 
and the minister began to walk slowly up and down 
the room as if in deep thought. He felt moved to 
tell this man before him of the conflict he had just 


CLEARING UP. 


133 


passed through, to acknowledge to him all the 
grievous error of the past. 

‘‘Mr. Buchanan, do you believe it a possible 
thing for a man to be deceived concerning his own 
salvation ? ” he asked suddenly. 

“ Most assuredly I do. Our hearts are so deceit- 
ful and our vanity so strong. I have known many 
who imagined themselves safe, simply because 
they were as good as their neighbours. On that 
plea they hope for and expect salvation.” 

“ What would you think of the man who, with- 
out troubling himself concerning his own hope for 
the future, presumed to warn and direct others 
towards the way of life ? ” 

“ I am afraid that is not so uncommon as one 
might suppose,” responded the mill-owner briefly. 

“ Do you believe that the preaching of such a 
one could be blessed ? ” 

“ I do not. I believe that there lies the secret of 
so many unfruitful ministries. The deadness which 
is abroad throughout our National Church could 
be partially traced to that cause,” said David 
Buchanan candidly. “ The Church is regarded as 
an honourable and desirable profession, and is 
often entered by men who have no special fitness 
for the work, and who have not the cause truly at 
heart.” 

Time was when Robert Martin would hotly and 
bitterly have resented these words, but he was 


134 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


silent now, because the experience of that day had 
abundantly proved them true. 

“ I have been nearly two years in Wellogate, Mr. 
Buchanan, and so far as man can judge my ministry 
has been eminently successful. I don’t suppose 
the membership was ever so large, or the church 
generally in a more satisfactory state,” said he in a 
curious voice. 

“You are quite right. You have worked a 
revolution here. None can deny it.” 

“Yes. But have I turned one soul to repent- 
ance? Have I been the means, by the grace of 
God, of showing to one seeking soul the way of 
life? I don’t believe it. The reason is the one 
I have just mentioned : I myself, until this very 
hour, was a castaway. May God forgive me and 
give me strength to begin my life anew,” he added 
in tones of deep emotion. 

David Buchanan turned suddenly, and their two 
hands met. 

“ Amen ! ” he said solemnly. “ Now your 
ministry will be blessed indeed. Thanks be to 
God for His mercy towards every one of us.” 

Both sat down then, and Robert Martin opened 
his heart to David Buchanan as he had never 
opened it to a living soul, his own wife not 
excepted. He did not spare himself nor lightly 
estimate his own shortcomings, and in the very 
telling there was an unspeakable relief. While 


CLEARING UP. 


135 


they were thus engaged, heedless of the flight of 
time, Rachel Buchanan's tender hands were busy 
about the patient upstairs, and it seemed as if 
comfort and healing followed them. The nurse 
was skilful and conscientious in the discharge of 
her duties, but love was lacking to make her 
ministry complete. The half-unconscious patient 
appeared to know the difference of look and touch 
and presence, and it almost seemed as if that slight 
figure with the kind, pitiful face and the gentle, 
loving hands brought a look of peace upon the 
worn, flushed face, which that trying week had so 
terribly changed. 

The rich tones of the dining-room timepiece 
were chiming ten when the study door was opened, 
and the minister stole softly upstairs. The door of 
the sick chamber was a little ajar, and he could see 
the interior. Rachel Buchanan was standing by 
the bed, sponge in hand, gently bathing the 
sufferer's head. The expression on her face was 
something akin to that with which a mother might 
look upon a dear loved child. A slight movement 
at the door disturbed her, and setting down the 
bowl she stepped back from the bed to see who the 
intruder might be. Seeing the minister there, she 
smiled a little, and gave him her hand. He raised 
it to his lips. 

‘‘She has fallen asleep. Come and see her. 
She looks more like herself,” she whispered, and 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


136 


together they lightly stepped across the room. 
Yes, she was asleep ; the breath was coming in 
regular respirations, and though the face was still 
deeply flushed, it looked more natural, and on the 
parted lips there lingered a faint smile, as if her 
dreams were pleasant. Fearing to utter a word, 
even a whisper, lest that blessed rest should be 
broken, they silently turned again and stepped out 
to the corridor. 

“ David ? has he gone?” asked Miss Buchanan. 

“Just going. And you?” said the minister, 
looking at her inquiringly. She had her cap on, 
and her soft house slippers, and had an apron tied 
about her dress. 

“ Oh, I shall stay if you will let me,” she 
answered with her bright ready smile. “ I came to 
stay. I assure you I am a famous nurse.” 

“ God bless you ! ” fell low and fervently from 
Robert Martin’s lips. “ But for yourself, have you 
no fear ? I am afraid for you.” 

“ Fear ! I have none. Am I not in our Father’s 
hands just as much as she is,” pointing towards the 
chamber door. “ Let me whisper something to 
you and send you away. I have seen many cases 
of this fever, and I have the liveliest hope for Mrs. 
Martin. God knows we in Hightown cannot spare 
her ; and I think He will hear the many earnest 
prayers which are being offered on her behalf.”- 

“God bless you for these words of hope and 


CLEARING UP. 


137 


comfort. I can say no more/’ said the minister 
huskily, and went his way downstairs. David 
Buchanan was waiting, hat in hand, at the open 
hall door. 

“ How is Mrs. Martin now? ” he asked. 

‘‘ She is asleep/’ was the answer, and David 
Buchanan never forgot the look of intense thank- 
fulness which accompanied the words. 

‘‘That is good. Tell Rachel I’ll bid Martha 
pack her bag, and it will be along in the morning. 
Good-night, and God be with you.” 

“ Good-night. May He reward you — I never 
can,” responded Robert Martin in full earnest 
tones. So they parted, friends for life. 




CHAPTER XIV. 

THE SILVER LINING. 

Y et another week of mingled anxiety, hope, 
and fear for the inmates of Wellogate manse, 
and then the dread waiting for the crisis, 
which has to be experienced to be understood. 
Dr. Carnegie expected the change at midnight on 
the twelfth day, and he arrived at the manse about 
ten o’clock, prepared to remain until it was over. 
It was his third visit that day, for he was deeply 
anxious about the patient, whose delirium and 
prostration had considerably increased. Rachel 
Buchanan and the nurse were in constant attend- 
ance in the sick-room. The former could not be 
persuaded to lie down nor take a rest, even though 
warned that she would be completely worn out. 
As for the minister himself, a strange deep calm 
had superseded the frenzied anxiety of the first few 
days ; not, however, the calm of despair, but the 
quiet resting of a heart stayed in trust upon its God. 
138 


THE SILVER LINING, 


139 


‘‘ Living or dying we are the Lord’s,” Robert 
Martin could truly say now, and so he was 
strengthened for the agonising suspense of these 
trying days. The physician remained downstairs 
with the minister, but few words passed between 
them. Robert Martin walked up and down the 
room incessantly, sometimes stepping out of the 
wide open window, and lifting his eyes as if in 
appeal to the starry sky. The heat was most 
oppressive. Every window in the house was open, 
but there was not a breath of wind to enter — not a 
sigh stirred the drooping branches of the limes. 
Even the pulses of health beat languidly in the 
still and heavy air. The whole earth seemed 
throbbing and panting for some blessed change, 
but the windows of heaven remained mercilessly 
shut. 

‘‘There is a cloud away to eastward. Do you 
think it will bring a shower? ” queried the minister. 

“ I would fain hope so. We cannot stand this 
much longer,” responded the physician. 

“ It is very oppressive. What o’clock is it 
now ? ” asked the minister. 

“ Five minutes past eleven. All seems quiet 
upstairs.” 

“ What do you think will be the result ? ” 
inquired Robert Martin in a low voice. 

“ Only God knows. It would be wrong to hide 
my fears from you. Her system is fearfully 

10 


140 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


reduced. Everything which could be done has 
been done, and the suspense will be over soon.” 

Should the result prove fatal, when will — ? ” 
Robert Martin said, but the question died upon 
his lips. 

‘‘Very soon. I think I will go upstairs now.” 

“ May I come ? ” 

“I think not. I will call you in ample time 
if — ” The physician did not finish the sentence, 
but rose from the sofa and left the room. Robert 
Martin continued his restless walking, and as the 
minutes passed great beads of perspiration began 
to gather on his brow. The tension of that hour 
was like to overwhelm him. The gong chimed the 
half-hour after eleven, then the quarter to the 
hour. When its echo died away he stepped out 
into the hall, and, pausing at the foot of the stair, 
listened. There was no sound, not even a light 
footfall crossing the floor of the chamber overhead. 
That awful dread stillness was more than he could 
bear, and he took a step on the stair. Just then 
he heard the soft opening of the door and a light 
foot coming swiftly along the corridor. He flung 
up his head, expecting the messenger of death. 
Presently he saw Rachel Buchanan, her face 
shining, although it was wet with tears, and 
as in a dream these words fell upon his strained 
ears : 

“ God has heard our prayers. She has fallen 


THE SILVER LINING. 


141 


asleep as sweetly as a child, and the danger of the 
crisis is past.” 

Then she stole away again, guessing how it was 
with him. He would be alone in that supreme 
moment with his God. 

• • • • • 

They let him into the room at length to look at 
her, to witness for himself that sweet life-saving 
slumber. He dared not stoop to kiss her, or even 
touch the dear head with his yearning fingers, lest 
that priceless sleep should be disturbed. Fearing 
lest he should forget himself, Rachel Buchanan 
touched his arm and whispered that the doctor 
was going, and would he see him downstairs? 
Dr. Carnegie was standing waiting in the hall, hat 
in hand, his grave, somewhat stern face wearing an 
expression of lively satisfaction. In common with 
many, many others in the town, he had been 
deeply, earnestly solicitous for the recovery of 
the minister’s wife. He knew, none better, 
that such as she could ill be spared from the 
world. 

“You will be satisfied now, Mr. Martin,” he said 
heartily. “ It will only be a question of time and 
nursing now ; and she has the best of attendants 
in that woman upstairs. God bless her.” 

“Ay; for what she has been and done for me 
and mine in this distress I can never be sufficiently 
grateful,” replied Robert Martin huskily. “I thank 


142 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


you, too, for your unremitting care and attention to 
my wife/' 

“Tut, tut; that is nothing. Wait till my bill 
comes in,” laughed the physician cheerily ; then he 
added in a graver tone, “ It behoved us all to do 
what we could. Such a life was too precious to be 
allowed to slip away from us.” 

The minister wrung his hand, and, when he had let 
him out, went back to the quiet study. As he did 
so the thought flitted through his mind that were 
he prostrated or taken away, his people would not 
regard it as so great a loss. He knew it well, but 
he accepted that conviction in humility ; for what 
had he done to win their confidence or love ? when 
had he stepped aside from self or selfish interests 
to consider them ? when had he sacrificed or 
inconvenienced himself for any one of them ? The 
marvel to him was that they should have borne 
with him so long. He opened his desk to write a 
letter to his father-in-law, and the pen flew readily 
across the paper now, for joy and hope followed it, 
and breathed in every word he wrote. While he 
was thus engaged he heard some stray drops fall- 
ing on the leaves, faster and faster, until the 
healing shower came down in a perfect torrent 
He rose and, standing by the open window, 
listened to the happy sound, inhaling the delicious 
odours of the reviving plants, and feeling in his 
inmost soul the infinite goodness of God. He 


THE SILVER LINING. 


143 


might try for a little space, but never beyond 
endurance. Even the promise of the rain, though 
long withheld, was fulfilled in time to save. 

Joy was as exciting in its way as pain; for 
though he threw himself on the couch, he could 
not sleep. So the dawning hours of that sweet 
summer morning were spent in earnest prayer, in 
fervent resolutions for the future, in humble con- 
secration of himself to the work he had neglected 
so long. In the early morning the dear invalid 
awoke, very weak and spent, but her eyes looked 
round the room with the clear light of recognition 
in their depths. When they rested on the figure 
of Rachel Buchanan in the rocking-chair, with her 
hands folded on her lap, and the early sunbeams 
falling on her placid face and closed eyes, an 
expression of wondering surprise and pleasure 
came into the white face. Almost as if aware of 
the awakening, Rachel rose and stole softly to the 
bed. When she saw the open, shining eyes her 
own overflowed ; and, bending down, she lightly 
kissed the white brow, and held up a warning 
finger to indicate that she must be still. She need 
not have been afraid — there was not sufficient 
strength in the feeble frame to give utterance to 
her thoughts. After swallowing, with some little 
difficulty, a few teaspoonfuls of nourishment, she 
closed her eyes again and fell asleep. That fore- 
noon an unexpected visitor came to the manse, 


144 


ROBERT MARTIN'S LESSON. 


asking to see the minister ; and when he went 
into the dining-room, what was his astonishment 
to see Florence Maitland ! Before he had time 
to utter a word, she began to speak with all her 
usual impetuosity. 

“ How is dear Mrs. Martin ? I would have been 
here long ago, Mr. Martin, but mamma wouldn’t 
let me ; and for fear I should come, she took me 
away visiting with her to Moffat. We just came 
home last night, and I couldn’t wait. Could I see 
her? and, oh, will she get better? I have just 
been miserable about her, I love her so ! ” 

Robert Martin’s heart warmed to the impulsive, 
affectionate girl, and he made haste to relieve her 
anxiety by assuring her that all danger was past. 
A sweet, bright smile shone through her tears 
when she heard the happy news. 

“ Oh ! I was sure that God would leave her with 
us ; she is so good and useful. Couldn’t I get one 
little peep at her ; only just one, please?” 

“You could; but what about Mrs. Maitland? 
She would be much displeased, I fear, even at your 
coming here.” 

“Oh, she knows I am here! Yes, mamma is 
dreadfully afraid of fevers ; but I have no fear, and 
as I will walk home, all infection will be blown 
away ; the air is so deliciously fresh and cool this 
morning after the rain.” 

“ It is. It seems as if the evidences of God s love 


THE SILVER LINING. 


145 


and goodness crowded in upon us all at once/’ said 
the minister half musingly. “Well, I ’ll send Miss 
Buchanan to you, and leave you in her hands.” 

“ Miss Buchanan ! Rachel Buchanan ! Is she 
here ? ” 

“She has nursed my wife night and day for 
more than a week, Miss Florence,” responded the 
minister in a curiously quiet voice. 

“ How good, how noble she is ! and how selfish 
and mean and unkind we must seem in compari- 
son ! ” exclaimed Florence. “ How I envy her her 
privileges and her unselfish noble soul ! ” 

“ Ay, she is one of the few who follow literally in 
the footsteps of the Master, and who, like Him, is 
misjudged and misunderstood, especially by those 
who ought to know better. I have learned many 
lessons during this week. Miss Florence.” 

Florence Maitland was silent, for she had never 
heard the minister speak in such a strain. The 
truth was he was no great favourite of hers, and it 
was her habit to make fun of his airs and conceits, 
and to wonder how his wife could bear so patiently 
with his lofty and overbearing ways. 

“I will go and see whether Miss Buchanan is 
disengaged,” he said presently, and left the room. 
In a few minutes the door opened, and Rachel 
Buchanan entered. A warm greeting passed 
between the two, for though they did not meet 
often, the heart of each seemed to warm to the 


146 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


other, and, had circumstances permitted, they 
would have been friends. By reason of her own 
youthfulness of heart and soul, Rachel Buchanan 
was dear to all young people. 

“ I never knew anything so perfectly splendid as 
your coming here to nurse dear Mrs. Martin, only 
you make me so dreadfully ashamed. Oh, Miss 
Buchanan, are you not glad that she is to get 
better ? ** she asked, with a tremor in her voice. 

Rachel Buchanan nodded. Her heart was too 
full for words. 

“ I am not very good ; I am afraid I am not a 
Christian, Miss Buchanan ; but, oh ! I did pray for 
her recovery. Her example has helped me to be a 
better girl than I have ever been ; and she is such 
a true kind friend, I felt I would be desolate 
without her. Will you let me steal into the room 
and look at her ? ” 

Rachel Buchanan shook her head. “ That would 
be running a more serious risk than I should think 
wise. I would not be doing right to permit it, but 
as soon as she is able to bear talking I will tell 
her of your visit. It will make her very happy. 
I think she loves you ; at least your name was 
often on her lips in the wanderings of the fever.’* 

Bright drops stood in Florence Maitland’s eyes, 
and for a little she did not spea!:. 

“ I never seemed to think anything about the 
reality of life until I saw her earnestness,” she said 


THE SILVER LINING. 


147 


at length. “ Do you know, though Mr. Martin is 
such a splendid preacher, I never seemed to get as 
much good from his sermons as from his wife? It 
is true what John Douglas says — she is a living 
lesson to us. She never spares herself, or thinks 
of herself at all, and she is so humble about 
herself. I never saw anything like it.” 

" Ay,” said Rachel Buchanan dreamily, “ ‘ blessed 
are the poor in spirit : for theirs is the kingdom of 
heaven,* ** 






CHAPTER XV. 

FOR HIS GLORY. 

I T was a lovely September evening, the hour that 
exquisite one between daylight and dusk. The 
sun had gone down, but a little of his sunset 
glory lingered still upon the earth. In the clear 
sky the stars were bright and many, and the 
harvest moon was at its full. In the drawing-room 
at the Wellogate manse the minister and his wife 
were alone. Ada Martin was convalescent now, 
but this was the first evening she had been per- 
mitted to leave the room where she had spent so 
many weary days. She was pale still, and thinner 
than of yore, and the short golden hair, beginning 
now to curl about her neck and on the broad, 
earnest brow, gave the sweet face a very innocent 
childish look ; yet it was singularly becoming. 
There was a fire in the tiled grate, and a pleasant 
ruddy glow shone on all the pretty room, and 
touched tenderly the slender figure in the blue 


FOR HIS GLORY. 


149 


dressing-gown lying on the couch half-way 
between the hearth and the western window, from 
which she had watched the sun go down. Her 
husband was sitting beside her, and there was an 
open book on his knee, no gem of modern 
literature, but the old, old Book, in which are 
found the lessons of life. 

“Well, have you got a text, Robert?” his wife 
asked presently, turning her sweet eyes smilingly 
on his face. 

“ Yes.” 

“ What is it ? A rich one, I hope ? ” 

He waited a moment, and then said slowly : 

“A servant of Jesus Christ.” 

“You have preached from these words before. 
Don’t you remember your induction sermon ? Are 
you going to redeliver it ? ” 

“No; I have written a new sermon. I was 
looking the old one over to-night, Ada, and before 
I had read many sentences I threw it into the fire.” 

Ada Martin started a little, not able to under- 
stand him. 

“ Why, dear, it was accounted a very fine 
discourse. You liked it yourself.” 

“ Did you ? ” 

“ Some parts of it — the beginning more than the 
end. I never like the close of your sermons, 
Robert. Is that not strange?” 

“I don’t think so. The marvel to me is that 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


150 


you like any part of them. Are you tired to-night, 
wife?^* 

“Tired after a two hours* nap in the afternoon ! 
What a question ! I feel so well — you have no 
idea — ** 

“ Would it weary you to listen to my sermon ? ” 

“No; I should like it of all things. It is so 
long since I heard you preach,” she said pleasantly. 
“ But where is Rachel ? Couldn’t she come too ? ” 

“ She has gone out, I think, dear,” answered 
the minister, as he rose to light the reading lamp 
and bring the table on which it stood nearer to 
the couch. Rachel Buchanan was still an inmate 
of Wellogate manse, although the pressing need 
for her presence was now happily past. Her 
brother was absent in the States on business, and 
she had been persuaded to remain at the manse 
until his return, the time for which was now 
drawing very near. They did not know how they 
were to let her go. She had been mother, sister, 
and friend in one to the young wife, and had 
earned the lifelong gratitude and won the abiding 
love and reverence of both. Mr. and Mrs. Matheson 
were still abroad, and intended to winter at Cannes, 
the health of the latter still giving cause for 
anxiety. Whenever Mrs. Martin’s physician per- 
mitted, she was to join them there ; but in the 
meantime she was enjoying convalescence at home. 

The minister drew the curtains close, shook up 


FOR HIS GLORY. 


151 


his wife’s pillows, and sat down close to her, with 
his manuscript in his hand, and in a few minutes 
she was held in thrall by the words he read. His 
voice was low and earnest, thrilled at times by the 
intensity of his own emotion. His listening wife 
never for a moment averted her eyes from his face, 
even when they filled with tears. Wonder, joy, 
contentment unspeakable succeeded each other in 
her heart and found expression on her sweet face. 
She could not tell how nor why, but it seemed to 
her that something she had always missed, and oh ! 
so often longed and prayed for, had come to her 
at last. The words to which she listened were not 
less eloquent, less beautifully expressed, than any 
which she had ever heard him utter before ; and 
they were more, they breathed a deep and humble 
piety, a clinging and unmistakable dependence 
upon the Lord, and, above and beyond all, they 
contained the simple essence of the Gospel story, 
setting forth clearly and unmistakably the narrow 
way of life, pointing to the strait gate as the 
only entrance to everlasting happiness and peace. 
When the last sentences, fraught with a passionate 
appeal, such sentences as a dying man might utter 
to dying men, died away in the stillness there was 
a long, deep silence. At length Robert Martin 
spoke in a low voice, shading his face with his 
hands : 

“ That is the first sermon I have written from 


152 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


the heart. What an unutterable difference it 
makes when a man feels what he writes ! May 
God forgive my barren and unworthy past ! 

Ada Martin leaned forward a little, her face 
deeply flushed, and her trembling hand went forth 
and touched her husband’s arm. 

" Robert, in this trouble did God give you a 
nearer glimpse of Himself?” she asked in a 
voiceless whisper. 

“ The first glimpse of Himself I have ever 
experienced. Wife, my whole ministry hitherto 
has been a mockery and a self-deception. While 
preaching a form of Gospel truth to others, I was 
myself a castaway. Could any punishment be too 
great for such a one ? and yet God in His unspeak- 
able mercy has given pardon, peace, and joy, which 
encourage me to hope that I may yet do something 
for His glory. O Ada ! when I look back, when 
I review the past two years, when I bring myself 
face to face with the self which has actuated every 
motive and aim, I am ready to sink with shame. 
I have made a god, an idol of myself ; the marvel to 
me is that God should have borne with me so long.” 

Still Ada Martin spoke not, but sat with her 
face hidden, weeping tears of silent thankfulness 
and j jy. 

“ It will be different now, my husband,” she 
whispered at last. “ Oh, thank God ! it will be 
different now.” 


FOR HIS GLORY. 


*53 


Robert Martin flung up his head, his face set in 
a high resolve, his eyes shining, his whole appear- 
ance that of a man who had awakened to the 
reality and the noblest purpose of life. 

“ Ay, with His help I shall go forward now, 
having no aim nor desire but to preach Christ and 
Him crucified. I have been an unprofitable servant 
too long, and richly do I deserve that servant's 
reward. Pray for me, Ada, that I may be kept 
from falling.” 

“ His grace is sufficient for us,” whispered the 
happy wife. “O Robert! my heart is overcharged ! 
It is as if every wish I have, or have ever had, were 
fulfilled to the uttermost now.” 

“ Did you know, did you guess anything of this, 
Ada?” 

I have feared it. I have missed something in 
your preaching. It did not speak to my heart. 
I was weighed down by dread lest the outward 
attributes of your position were becoming more 
engrossing than its inner and most sacred privi- 
leges. O Robert 1 I have had many weary sad 
hours thinking about it, but I did not lose hope, 
remembering always that with Him all things are 
possible.” 

“ You will help me, Ada, you will ; and when 
you see me going astray, or becoming lukewarm in 
His service, you will fearlessly warn me. I have 
now to learn of you, my wife ; you have ever been 


154 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON. 


and are so much nearer the kingdom than 1. 

I cannot but think that for your sake God has 
dealt very mercifully with me.” 

“Hush! oh, hush! We will help each other, 
and will God not go with and guide us both ? ” she 
whispered through happy tears. The last cloud 
was swept away from the sky now, the desire of her 
heart was granted to her ; for when her husband’s 
gifts were earnestly and humbly consecrated to the 
service of God, what great things might not be 
accomplished ? What was to hinder the ingather- 
ing of many many wandering sheep to the fold ? 

In the deep and sacred silence which ensued the 
heart of each was filled with trembling yet joyful 
visions of the future. God seemed very near them 
in that home, and the solemn radiance of the 
harvest moon stole in at the western window, falling 
upon them like a benison from heaven. 

Robert Martin is in Hightown still, and likely to 
remain. The desirable city charge which at one 
period of his life was the summit of his hopes has 
been offered him again and again, but has failed to 
tempt him. He says he has found his life-work. 
I would gladly tell something of what he has done 
and is doing for Wellogate Church and for the 
people of Hightown, but I know he would like me 
to stop here. Humility, that sweetest attribute of 
Christian character, has found a constant abiding 


HIS GLORY. 


155 


place in his heart, and though many marvel at the 
magnitude of his work, he takes no honour nor credit 
to himself. “ By God’s grace and lor His glory ” is 
the motto which crowns his life ; and after all who 
can estimate the labours of a single-hearted, earnest 
servant of God — there is so little revealed to the 
human eye, so much hid with Christ in God ? We 
will know it all some day. Till then, like Robert 
Martin himself, we are content to wait. 

There are earthly homes which shadow forth 
what the heavenly will be. Such is the manse of 
Wellogate. There are a group of unselfish Christian 
children growing up about Robert and Ada 
Martin, consecrated to the Lord from their birth, 
and who will one day do good work in the vine- 
yard for the Master whom they have been taught 
to love at their mother’s knee. Many friends also 
are welcome in that happy home. Among the 
truest and dearest there comes very often an old 
white-haired man, whose tall figure is beginning to 
stoop sadly at the shoulders, and whom the children 
fondly speak of as Uncle David. David Buchanan 
loves to spend an hour at the manse, for his own 
house is desolate since his sister went home. The 
sweet mother has ever a warm welcome for him, for 
he is her own and her husband’s friend, not for 
time alone, thank God ! but for eternity. 

John Douglas and his wife, now happily one in 
heart, are of the inner circle also, and so is Florence 

II 


56 


ROBERT MARTINIS LESSON, 


Maitland, abiding still with her widowed father, 
whose irritable and trying temper is her daily cross. 
His worldly and selfish life held no preparation for 
the infirmity and pathos of age, and he is the prey 
of discontent and vain regrets. He is one of the 
very few who disapprove the change in the minister 
of Wellogate; it is a common saying with him that 
Martin is not the man he was, and that he has 
fallen short of the promise of his youth. Others 
have a different tale to tell. Many trembling lips 
crave a blessing on Robert Martin’s head; in many 
hearts he is enshrined in love and reverence 
unspeakable. He labours not for the approval of 
his fellow-men, and the world’s praise or blame 
affects him not at all. But his reward is none the 
less sure. What saith the Scripture ? “ They 

that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the 
firmament, and they that turn many to righteous- 
ness as the stars for ever and ever.” 


THE END. 


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